


Finding Hope

by MissPopuri



Series: The Eternal Destiny Chronicles [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Fantasy, Gen, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPopuri/pseuds/MissPopuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is written in the old religion that Merlin with the help of Arthur would unite the land of Albion. Of course, in times of great peril, the hero must call on additional assistance to battle the forces of evil. Help is appreciated even in the most unlikely of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1

A heavy wind blew in from the west, the village experienced a downpour of torrential rain the people had not seen since the Great Purge. Rumors circulated that the mistresses of the old religion had been breathing life again. Though, the mistresses had not revealed themselves at full power. While the villagers slept in their beds, several miles away, deep within the bowels of Cenred’s vacant keep, a young witch prepared a lifeless blonde corpse for rejuvenation.

Morgana waved her hand—as she was taught by Morgause—over the corpse’s limp body. Lips muttered the incantation, her eyes, hand steadied—eyes glowed—a rush of magical energy channeled through her and filled the corpse’s nostrils.

Having cleaned her forehead, Morgana waited as Morgause slowly revived. Eyes opened, she sat up and smiled at Morgana.

She whispered, “Thank you, sister.”

As she raised herself from the horizontal position on the raised platform; breathing a sigh of relief, Morgana stopped her sister from getting any further.  
“Please, rest, sister, your strength is not yet recovered.”

Smiling knowingly, Morgause shooed Morgana’s hand as she said, “If you did the spell like I taught you, my strength should be fine.”

Morgause smiled, “You should have more confidence in your magic, sister. Has our plan been postponed then?”

Nodding her head, Morgana grumbled, “We have been outwitted by Arthur’s manservant, Merlin.”

“Outwitted by a servant?” Morgause smirked, “not likely, there are many ways to take down Camelot.”

Studying her sister curiously, Morgana interjected, “How are we expected to do that?”

Morgause mused for a second before she said, “I had it on good authority to dispose of Uther. My agents have taken him out of this equation.”

With her eyes widened, Morgana smirked at her sister deviously, “Do you think Arthur will produce a strong enough threat yet?”

“I see you’re hesitating again,” Morgause smiled back, “Arthur only has a few knights to defend him. A successful campaign is never won with just one plan in play.” Moved towards her scrying bowl, she starts chanting a spell.

As she watched Morgause stare into her crystals, Morgana asked, “What plans do you have in mind?”

Interrupted in her chanting, she looked up from her crystals, Morgause’s voice sounded mysterious, “All in good time, sister.”

Walking across the dank room, Morgana took a look inside the crystal herself. The visions within showed her the images of battle-worn soldiers and two miniature figures riding a dragon towards Camelot, one of the small figures took on the form of a familiar male figure blasting a fire ball from his hands.

Meanwhile, back in Camelot, a lonely manservant woke up in a cold sweat.


	2. Chapter 2

2

The knights’ training sessions have gotten a bit more intense of late. It was all due to rumors that danger still lurks in enemy and friendly territories even though Camelot has once again been saved from the forces of evil. At least, Merlin had the audacity to ask Gwaine to help train him. If Arthur wanted to prep his forces—new and old—for another battle with his half-sister; Merlin needed to be prepared to face down Morgana as well.

With a stiff parlay, Merlin blocked Gwaine’s forward lunge, but the back swing landed him on his back again—jolted like the many times Arthur had taken to private training after the knights were done for the day. Gwaine was a forthright teacher, nonthreatening and very willing to help out; he was a patient teacher with Merlin.

Their swords clashed and Merlin pushed back Gwaine’s advancement, the continuing barrage of lessons shouted at him while he still had the tendency to falter on his footing. His feet weren’t as coordinated as Gwaine’s, and he certainly wasn’t as lithe as Morgana. The dexterity she had not only in besting him at swordplay but magical incantations rubbed Merlin the wrong way.

While he was impromptly teaching Merlin, Gwaine hollers, “Hey, Merlin, you need to get your head out of those clouds,” as he pretended to cut him again, “in war, your enemy will not be so lenient with the pain of death.”

Startled by the thought, Merlin regained his footing as he took Gwaine’s words to heart. Realizing this was the truth, he couldn’t tell his friend that the reason he did this was because Morgana’s strengths terrified him. He acknowledged, “Oh, I know perfectly well what the art of war does to a man or woman. How do you think I had decided to better my swordsmanship?”

Again, Gwaine took his sword and thrust his friend’s weapon away. He pointed it at Merlin’s throat. He made a quizzical judgment on the situation before him, so he asked, “You are distracted by something, I take it.” His smile was genuine with a hint of sarcasm.

Merlin rolled his eyes, parlaying a few more swipes from his teacher, his hand made a fault dropping his sword. Swooping in to cup him under the chin, Gwaine’s sword tilted Merlin’s chin forward, expecting surrender. Offering him his sword, Merlin answered, “There have been a few things on my mind, yes.”

Gwaine smiled again and shook his head—Merlin didn’t notice—he answered, “It must be something big if you are off your game after yesterday.”

It wasn’t like Merlin was afraid to tell Gwaine about his magic because he wanted to have a fighter’s chance of beating Morgana on her own terms. His magic was strong, but Merlin knew that he would have to use more than powerful magic to best Morgana at her game. The screaming girl in the throne room six months ago still terrified and haunted his every sleeping memory; however, there is the one fleeting memory he keeps of hope for the future of Camelot. Few people whom Merlin had met could be trusted with this secret, he had the thought to tell Arthur, but the repercussions if Uther did happen to recover would probably be dangerous for him. Uther’s condition had not worsened, but the steady decline in his strength had not gotten stronger either.

Not looking even slightly perturbed by Merlin’s silence, Gwaine interrupted, “You know if it’s about a girl, you can tell me you know,” he flexed his muscles, “I am an expert after all.” He laughed like he had made a joke.  
Having heard Gwaine’s roaring laughter, Merlin came out of his thoughts and answered, “No, I haven’t been thinking about a girl,” he hesitated for a second, “per say.”

As if he knew what Merlin had on his mind, he gave that knowing nod. He explained, “We’ve all been there, Merlin,” Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder, “girls are complicated and difficult to read. If she is worth the trouble, she will come around eventually.”

Even though he did find Morgana distractingly beautiful, he couldn’t tell Gwaine that he wasn’t thinking of her in that way at the moment. Before he could say another word, however, he noticed Leon as the first knight sprinted towards them on the green.

Gwaine hollered at Leon when he came closer, “What’s the news, my good sir?”

Turned toward Leon now, Merlin asked before Leon spoke, “Are we expected to attend the meeting in the throne room, Sir Leon?”

Upon catching his breath, Leon nodded his ascent, added, “It’s nice to see you up today, Sir Gwaine, are you ready for battle?”

“Pfft,” Gwaine scoffed, “I’m just saving my strength and your honor until I absolutely need to face you in a duel.”  
As Sir Leon politely ignored Gwaine’s taunt, he said instead, “Prince Arthur requested that all servants and knights be present at this meeting. I might also add that the business of this meeting is to keep the populace informed as to the affairs which Camelot will be forced to adhere in maintaining safety protocol.”

With sarcasm, Gwaine interrupted, “I am told that the populace will also be forced to ration their food stores for winter and pay extra taxes to the interim king.”

The sour look on Sir Leon’s face hushed Gwaine immediately.

“Since when does Arthur want to discuss strategy with us,” Merlin asked, with raised eyebrow.

Turned attention to Merlin, Leon said, “His exact words were ‘Bring the knights and Merlin for a meeting in the throne room within thirty minutes time.’ I have to hurry if I am to get Elyan and Percival the notification before thirty minutes is gone. He might have also added that Merlin needs to shut up and not ask questions of his authority.”

With the final word, Leon ran towards the village. It was past mid day, and Elyan would be at the blacksmith still. If the time was correct, the harvesters would be taking a break before the evening grind. As a farmer by trade, Percival would be resting in the village giving children piggy-back rides.

Merlin rolled his eyes—tossed the armor he had been wearing into the basket off to the side—ran in the opposite direction of Leon. Not paying any attention he left Gwaine as he stood there all by himself. His own thoughts lost as he stared out over the open field.

As he shouted at no one in particular, Gwaine belted out, “Maybe I don’t want to go to some stupid meeting.” He sheaved his sword and ran in the direction of the nearest tavern.

-

Entering the throne room, Merlin looks around at the already crowded area. He edges his way around the knights standing shoulder to shoulder next to Arthur’s throne. Arthur, standing with his father’s closest advisors, he was perusing over maps, letters, and various forms of correspondence from scouts as Merlin positions himself away from the thick of the action.

When he is out of the way, standing next to Gwen, her arms folded as she waits for Arthur to address the assembled crowd.

Merlin whispers, “Do you know what this is about?”

Turning her head slowly, Gwen shakes her head, negating knowing anything. She asks him instead, “I could only guess what Arthur is doing.”

Faining shock, Merlin whispers, hand to his heart, “What?!? Arthur doesn’t talk about this stuff when you’re alone together.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, giving a half-frown, half-playful smile, shoving an elbow into Merlin’s side. As he grabs his side pretending to be in pain, he laughs as he returns her jab in the ribs. He regains composure to turn towards where Arthur is beginning to speak, and he catches Gaius eying him quizzically, one eyebrow arched as usual.

Soberly, he smiles at Gaius, he mouths, “You don’t want to know.”

Nodding, Gaius shakes his head and also turns his attention to Arthur.

Clearing his throat again, Merlin could see that Arthur looks very uncomfortable. He usually has that downtrodden look to his face before he is forced to bear a huge blow to everyone’s psyche.

“In these times of hardship and grief,” Arthur begins, “we are still not sure how much my father’s health will recovery. The Lady Morgana had done her to take the spirit out of him, and we have yet to see his former self return as our sovereign lord.”

The residents in the chambers shuffle their feet uncomfortably. Everyone is not sure how to feel right about now.  
Arthur continues, “We have received reports that the lady Morgana is stirring up trouble in the ruins of Cenred’s former kingdom. As of now, there is no word that she has any plans of making them immortal. Our scouts will report news of further developments as they are made known.”

Everyone in the throne room gasps. The murmurs that start give Arthur pause. As he clears his throat again, he speaks solemnly, “Our own forces have gotten stronger,” nodding to Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, and several others standing among them in procession, “we have also sent word to our neighboring allies. Their support and aid in this uncertain time will be fortuitous for everyone.”

As Arthur speaks, Merlin looks at all the knights in turn. You have to admire Elyan for his loyalty and stalwart ability to never back down from a fight. Percival, the strongest and biggest of them all, is the least likely anyone would have thought to join with us and face our cause with us. Then, there is Sir Leon. Brave, brave Sir Leon, no one questions his ability to lead others into battle and be Prince Arthur’s second-in-command. In Lancelot, we see humility and modesty that enshrine no greater man to be a loyal knight. Arthur chose well when he knighted them at the round table.

While, he was musing the unique qualities of each knight, Merlin realizes that Gwaine is nowhere to be seen. Responsibility was never a strong suit of his, but he should have known Arthur needed him to hear this news. As he worries about Gwaine, Arthur goes on about the guard post they had recently installed at Camelot’s northern border. There was also Arthur’s call looking for volunteers to man the post to better prepare the surrounding villages and towns of incoming danger.

The post was a two-man operation. One to stand guard, and the other would run if a messenger was needed.  
Still thinking of why Gwaine would possibly miss this information, the large double doors open to reveal his smiling face in his knight’s garb. He asks emphatically, “What did I miss?”

Likewise, the interruption causes everyone to remain silent, pausing to stare at him. Merlin could hear a soft giggle—most likely from Gwen—as all eyes fix themselves on Gwaine.

Not one to be deterred by silence or be sheepish, Gwaine looks at every face and asks again, “Did I ruin the party?”  
Walking over, Arthur steps up to Gwaine, claps him on the back, and smiles. “Thank you for volunteering tonight, Gwaine, you are to report to the North Crossing post by sundown,” he asserts.

Lancelot steps forward and stands next to Gwaine. He speaks slowly, “I volunteer to stand with him tonight.” To acknowledge his acceptance, Arthur claps his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder as well.

“Very well,” he gives both men’s shoulders a firm shake before turning back towards the rest of them, “that will be everything. You are free to go back to your work.”

With wide eyes, Gwaine stares at Lancelot curiously. He only stiffened his shoulders and went to prepare for the night watch. Merlin watches as the room thins out until he is the only one left—besides Arthur. Even Gwen lingers after the others, but Merlin silently wills her to go. Her last glimpse was of Arthur’s hunched over back perusing a map.

“You have done well, Arthur,” Merlin speaks, breaking the silence that once again fell on the room, “your father would be proud of you.”

At first, Arthur doesn’t speak. He doesn’t hear the second voice—Merlin—still in the room with him.  
Merlin breaks the silence again. “I will volunteer myself to stand guard over Camelot.”

Speaking low, Arthur grunts, “I wouldn’t hear of a manservant taking the place of a knight. What have you done in the last few encounters we had? Cower in the corner?” He laughs at his own joke. Arthur didn’t see Merlin flinch at the mention of past battles.

“I just thought,” Merlin recounts, “maybe they could use another person just as capable on a horse.”  
Arthur laughs fully this time, turning around to face Merlin, “Is that it? You’re worried about Gwaine and Lancelot not being able to fend for themselves.”

Merlin couldn’t say anything after that.

“Oh, don’t be such a girl, Merlin. They are two of my best knights, and they are more than capable of taking care of themselves.”

That wasn’t what Merlin was worried about at all. For all his faults, Gwaine was still going to need all the help he could get.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Unpacking his duffel from the belt loop, Lancelot was the first to arrive at the new guard post. The sun had not yet officially set in the western sky off his left hand side. His pack set on the table—organized with a whole chicken, three red apples, and a jug of the barkeeper’s finest meade—Lancelot stretched his arms over his head as he went to take control of command from the soldiers already on duty.

As per usual, Gwaine was running late. He strolled into the area with a huge grin on his face—keg under his arm, Lancelot had an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he stared at the keg. Gwaine walked to the table under the guard tower, depositing his wares next to Lancelot’s.

Not willing to remain silent any longer, Lancelot said, “Is that all you brought for the long night? Where’s your dinner?”

Gwaine stared at Lancelot for a minute, looked at the table with Lancelot’s food, and back at his own meager helpings. He laughed wholeheartedly, “I don’t need anything if I have my keg.” He pats it thoughtfully.

Raising an eyebrow, Lancelot decided not to encourage him. He has been in Camelot for a little over two months now, and there was no doubt that a peeved and drunk Gwaine was the last thing he needed on a long night on patrol. Let’s get through this night in one piece, he thought to himself.

“What’s in that jug over there?” Gwaine nodded his head to Lancelot’s meade supply, breaking the silence.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Lancelot said, “It’s meade.”

Scoffing, Gwaine crossed the room, clapped Lancelot on the shoulder. He shook it firmly—smiled to show his face wasn’t bothered. This made Lancelot confused. There was something off with him.

“Are you feeling alright?” Lancelot spoke at last, voice suddenly concerned, “I could send you back to Camelot on the grounds that you aren’t feeling well.”

Gwaine laughed again as he pulled Lancelot’s arm off his shoulder. He said without falter, “I’m perfectly alright. What’s eating you?”

Rolling his eyes, Lancelot let his hand fall, rested on the hilt of his sword. There was something wrong with him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He took his place on first watch.

The cap popped off Lancelot’s jug of meade, he took a giant gulp from the spout and handed out over to Gwaine. At first, Gwaine refused to take any of his ale, and he continued to drink from his own. Gwaine sat down on the ground—head against the rock behind him, he stared out over the western horizon as his eye caught the semblance of a shrine.

He nodded his head to it as he asked Lancelot, “Who is buried there?”

Taken a swig from his own jug, Lancelot looked in the direction that Gwaine pointed. He swallowed before he said, “That’s the tomb of Gorlois, lady Morgana’s father.”

A shudder went down Gwaine’s spine as he continued to stare at the tomb. He hadn’t known lady Morgana for very long, but the last image he had of her was not a pleasant one. The bottle went up to his lips—he leaned his head back—drank as he stared out over the western sky, the sun setting behind the tomb.

“Lucky, we don’t have to stay in the tomb tonight,” Gwaine said, yawning despite how not tired he looked.  
Not paying attention to anything but the road, Lancelot turned towards the tomb, back to Gwaine. He was an unusual knight, he thought. Merlin said he came to their aid multiple times in the past, and Lancelot had to admit that when those times came Gwaine was right by their side.

It was during times like this that Lancelot didn’t feel very reassured about Gwaine’s valiant moments. Strength—like Merlin said—was Gwaine’s greatest ally. He looked over at his newest friend, silently snoring against his rock.  
Lancelot rolled his eyes before he said, “I’ll wake you up at midnight to take second watch.”

Responded by a loud snore, Lancelot turned away from his friend and went back to guarding the road.

-

The clouds had gathered as night fell over Camelot’s northwest border post. A faint smell of rain wafted into Lancelot’s nostrils as he remained to keep watch. Towards Cenred’s kingdom, the rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance.

Gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, Lancelot’s pulse skipped—the flash of lightning illuminated the eastern sky—his ears trained on the surrounding Darkling Woods. It was almost time for him to wake up Gwaine, but there was something out there.

He lit a torch from the watch tower’s fire—made his way towards the tree line—drew out his sword. He cautiously called into the woods.

“Show yourself.” His voice fell flat—no echoes here—the silence was starting to make him insane.

Before he could say another word, a figure pushed through the wood’s underbrush and fell down at his feet. Lancelot couldn’t see his face, but the figure was slight of build. He placed the torch close enough to the person’s face without singeing to identify him.

Without missing a beat, Lancelot briefed a sigh of relief, “Merlin, what are you doing out here?”

Looking slightly disoriented, Merlin stood up and dusted off his clothes. He stared at Lancelot for a second, but he didn’t say anything right away. His dusted clothes were not all the things covered in dirt—his hair and face were slathered in mud. Probably from the recent slough of thunderstorms, Lancelot thought, as he guided Merlin back to their camp.

At last, he spoke, Merlin’s voice shaky, “They want revenge on us. They want me dead.” He shook internally.

Lancelot offered Merlin a mug of his meade. If there was one thing Lancelot could count on, Merlin trusted him with his secret. It wasn’t necessary to explain how Merlin got spooked by omens, but if there was magic involved; Lancelot was the one person he could tell. Probably was a good thing now that Gwaine hadn’t have woken up yet, and Lancelot had made no move to wake him.

“Where’s Gwaine?” Merlin asked, finally.

Pointing to the curled up man by the rock, Lancelot noticed that Gwaine still had his bottle covered in his arms. Merlin laughed when he saw him.

“Oh, Gwaine, you never change.”

He picked up a rock and threw it at Gwaine; which hit him promptly on the shoulder. The impact startled Gwaine so that he woke with a start as he hit his head against the rock he had slumbered next to during the night.

The first words out of his mouth were as follows, “What the hell? I was having such a nice dream.” He rubbed the back of his head, knowing that there was going to be a knot back there tomorrow.

Merlin laughed again, “It’s almost time for you to switch watch.”

Gwaine groaned as he pulled his knees up—rested his forearms against them—he pulled his jug tighter to him. He mumbled curses under his breath as he slapped himself a few times.

Lancelot and Merlin exchanged glances, confused at Gwaine’s behavior. Neither of them had ever seen Gwaine act like this in their presence. They were at a loss at what to do.

After a while, Gwaine looked up at them and smiled, “Sorry if I startled you, I’m not much of a morning person.”  
Raising his eyebrow, Merlin asked, “Are you alright, Gwaine, you seem a bit, I don’t know?”

Gwaine brushed it off with a shrug. No one could say another word after that. Silence fell again over them, and Lancelot couldn’t think of anything else to say anymore than Merlin did.

The wind picked up—the storm was coming closer—Lancelot started to gather his things to keep them dry inside the tower. Rain still hadn’t come yet, but the thunder was louder.

“It was raining like this about the same hour last night,” Merlin mused.

“There aren’t any raindrops yet, Merlin, I would have felt them already.”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders and looked up at the sky. He wondered aloud, “I wonder if lady Morgana knows how to control the weather.”

It was off-putting and unexpected that Lancelot and Gwaine both said, “Huh?”

Not realizing what he said, Merlin went on, “There are other kingdoms around that are prepared to swear an alliance with Prince Arthur if Uther were happenstance to die as a result of physical trauma.”

Again, Lancelot and Gwaine exchanged looks, both wondered what was going through Merlin’s head.

After Merlin’s pause, Gwaine asked, “How do you happen to propose we arrange for the meeting with these kingdoms?”

There was another pause—an owl hooted in the woods—Merlin stared blankly into the woods, lost in thought. It was clear, he had no idea what he was doing as well. One drop of rain fell on Merlin’s forehead to startle him out of his trance. Lancelot wasn’t paying attention except to move their camp into the shelter of the tower itself.

Another drip on Merlin’s head caused him to get up and shout at the heavens, “Morgana, I hate you.” With emphasis on the hate, he spit towards the east.

Laughter came unceremoniously from above him—the sound he loathed even more than Morgana’s screech—it is hard to fathom an even more irritable noise, but the dragon does it in spades. Gwaine sat besides Merlin shellshocked by the laughter above him.

Commotion outside brought Lancelot’s attention to the campfire, he drew his sword when he saw the dragon. He made his way towards him in cautious steps.

When Kilgarrah stopped laughing, Merlin grumbled, “What do you want?”

Appeared to be hurt by Merlin’s harsh tone, Kilgarrah spoke, “I have come with a bargaining chip for you, young warlock.”

Merlin stood up straighter when he said, “I don’t want any more bargains with you, Kilgarrah. We are through, finished. Go raid a village and be done with me.”

Kilgarrah laughed again, this time he spoke through his fit of giggles, “Do you think I do not know what you are in need of Merlin?” He calmed a little to add, “Arthur will need every man and woman of Albion to assist him when it comes to taking down Morgana.”

As if the sight of him wasn’t tiring enough, Merlin couldn’t stand for any more of Kilgarrah’s lies and trickery. He’s done enough harm to Arthur to last him several lifetimes, and dragons are creatures of the old religion. Unfortunately, he didn’t count on Gwaine and Lancelot being witness to him speaking to a dragon in such a familiar way.

Eyes widened, Gwaine couldn’t speak any more than Lancelot could. The conversation between Merlin and Kilgarrah was being spoken in harsh dragon tongue. Merlin’s words sounded positively menacing like he wanted to hurt the dragon himself, but the dragon seemed unmoving as well.

The banter continued for a minute or two when Kilgarrah finally propositioned Merlin with a deal. It was simple enough. Merlin would come with him; in exchange, Kilgarrah would not go near Ealdor for the foreseeable future.

Likewise, Merlin mounted the dragon, and he was lifted up into the air. The witnesses still on the ground saw this and immediately started running after him.

Gwaine’s legs carried him all the way to the crossroads that led to the northern plains before he stopped to allow Lancelot to catch up. His breath needed to be steady before he figured out a plan.

Getting Merlin kidnapped, it was not what either of them thought would happen.


	4. Chapter 4

4

They looked at each other for several minutes with trepidation on their faces. It was bad enough to be injured in battle, but it was entirely another to lose the prince’s manservant. Gwaine rubbed the back of his head in angst as he tried to think of what he could say at a time like this.

Awkward pauses aside, Lancelot said, at last, “Did you know Merlin could speak to dragons?”

It was apparent that Gwaine had no idea about Merlin’s magic, and Lancelot was not about to ruin Merlin’s darkest secret. He drew lines in the dirt road with his sword as he spit in the direction the dragon took with Merlin. The northern plains were not a welcome place for him, and he didn’t need to be reminded of the horrors that lay for him beyond.

“No,” Gwaine answered, “did you know?”

Lancelot shook his head, worried about Merlin, he asked, “How are we going to break the news to Arthur?”

Gwaine turned abruptly on Lancelot. He stared at him for a moment before saying, “You are joking,” he said in a non-question, “we can’t tell Arthur about Merlin.”

“Why not?”

His question seemed reasonable knowing that Merlin is Arthur’s manservant, but there is no way they could tell him about the dragon. Dragons are supposed to be dead after more than twenty years.

Without a moment’s hesistation, Gwaine pulled out his dagger, gripped his fist around it, and sliced skin until his hand started bleeding. He made a move to take Lancelot’s hand and do the same ritual.

“We make a blood oath not to come back to Camelot until Merlin is found,” Gwaine swore, as he took Lancelot’s hand, gripped the wrist, and sliced in the same identical spot on his own right hand. Hesitation on Lancelot’s part only quelled when Gwaine mentioned Merlin.

Lancelot gripped Gwaine’s hand tight as their blood seeped into their identical cuts. Eyes intense as he gave his oath, he swore “On my life, I will honor my brother knight and keep this secret.”

Bandaging their wounds, Gwaine and Lancelot head towards the northern plains, leaving the watch tower unguarded as is.  
Dawn was fast approaching.

-

It had been a long night in Arthur’s bedchambers. Papers needed to got over—alliances to forge, old friends to appease—his father had left a mess for him with Camelot’s political future in jeopardy. Of course, he shouldn’t talk like his father was gone right yet, but the mind was slowly deteriorating. Gwen’s usual bright hopes for the recovery of Uther were grim tonight; her cheery mood had been torn by Uther’s unresponsive behavior to his evening meal. His mouth could barely open, she reported to him later.

Gwen was safe in his bed, Arthur turned around to look at her curled up all cute and cuddly. His own mind wandered back to what he should be doing rather than what he was forced to revisit every time he took a break.

He threw his pen down and went to cuddle behind his beloved Guinevere. Now that their relationship was out in the open, he no longer had to be cautious of her coming into his room at all hours. He planted a soft kiss on her exposed neck and jaw line when she stirred in her sleep.

Murmuring, Gwen whispered, “Have you finished what you needed?” She reached up to touch his face gently with her hand, stroking lightly.

Arthur touched her hand with his, brought it to his lips, and placed it back at her side. He purred in her ear, “No politics tonight.”

Upon those words, he slowly turned Gwen over, kissing from her neck down to the opening of her new nightgown, up her sternum nibbling on her chin, leaving light kisses on her lips. Gwen responded by wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she whispered against him, “I think I can handle that.”

His hands groping at the silky skirt of her nightgown, Arthur pressed himself—already hard—against her, pulling her up to get closer to her warmth. Gwen’s obliging hands removed his undergarments as he leaned back to enjoy the slickness of Gwen.

Arching into each other, Arthur met Gwen’s gaze as she rode him, pounded against him, losing himself. Her rhythm was bringing him closer when he grabbed her backside, flipped her over, and returned her steady beat with deep thrusts of his own.

In a few more turns, Gwen climaxed not long before Arthur came. They fell exhausted into each other’s arms. Gwen curled up against Arthur’s chest—both naked—they fell asleep listening to their heartbeats pounding next to one another.

-

The next morning, a knock at the door woke Arthur from his sleep. He left Guinevere in bed as he went to answer the unwanted visitor. His royal red cape wrapped around his waist as he made his way to the door.  
He opened the door to find Leon standing at attention. Sir Leon bowed to his prince before he said, “We’ve got terrible news, sire.”

Arthur leaned against the door, looking distressed. He didn’t need this so early in the morning after a late evening of passionate love making.

Almost afraid to ask, Arthur wanted to know anyway, “What is it, Sir Leon?”

Leon cleared his throat nervously, shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

Irritated, Arthur asked again, “Are you going to waste my time, Leon, or is this really important?”

Before he said another word, Sir Leon breathed out the breath he was holding. He answered meekly, “I had a scout sent out to track Gwaine’s behavior last night.”

Arthur crossed his arms. He said, “And?”

Again, Leon hesitated, “And I have been told Gwaine and Lancelot are not at their assigned post.”

If Arthur had been mad before being given this news, then he was furious after the fact. He thought he could trust Gwaine, and he knew Lancelot would see him through the night without trouble. This was unusual for Lancelot to disobey an order, and he couldn’t think of why Lancelot would want to in the first place.

“Have you checked the local taverns,” Arthur asked, with the hope that Gwaine and Lancelot probably decided to take a late night pass or something.

Leon shook his head, affirmed Arthur’s worst nightmare. Two of his best men had deserted him during the night. If his father was in his right senses, he would chastise his only son for keeping company with less than noble men.  
With straightened shoulders, Arthur commissioned Leon, “I need you to gather the rest of the knights and Merlin in the council chambers.”

“Sire,” Leon started but didn’t finish. He left without another word.

In five minutes, Arthur dressed himself without his manservant’s help, kissed Guinevere’s forehead, and exited his bedchamber to meet his knights in the council chambers. The life of a prince is never boring.

-

Everyone gathered in the council in a short amount of time. With everyone accounted for—except Merlin—Arthur looked around to where Leon was standing. He mouthed, where is Merlin. The mouthed reply, not here, sent a chill down Arthur’s spine. A headache started to form as Arthur sat down in his father’s seat and seethed.

Elyan, Percival, and Leon stood on one side of him while Gwen had come in unnoticed to stand by his other knights on the other side. They were standing in a semicircle around him as the head, watching him for sudden movements.  
He breathed out a few deep breaths before he said, “It has come to my attention that Gwaine and Lancelot have not returned from their late night post on the tower.”

Hesitant shuffling stirred the knights into talking amongst themselves, they had no idea what was going on.

Arthur continued, “I am not my father, and as such, I will give them one more chance for Lancelot’s sake,” he paused, “it has also come to my attention that Merlin is gone. Has anyone seen Merlin since last night?”

No one said anything, and this worried Arthur more than anything. Gaius came in, but there was no relief since he only remembered Merlin going into his room last night after his chores were complete. Confusion and more murmurs around the chambers when Guinevere spoke, “It could be that Merlin went to assist his friends at the tower last night.”

As preposterous as it sounded, Arthur wouldn’t put it past Merlin to put himself into danger, and then hide at the first sign of trouble. He nodded thoughtfully acknowledging Gwen’s point. There was only one thing he could do at this time. He ordered, “Ready my horses, I ride out at once.”

Some objections were raised by the knights, but Arthur ignored them as he walked away from the throne. His substitute valet met him in the courtyard.

The saddle was already on the horse when Gwen came running towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to speak into his ear, “Don’t go, you have no idea where Merlin has gone, he could be anyway, Arthur. Please, we need to know more information.”

As always, he had to give credence to his Gwen. She was right, but he couldn’t stand by while his servant and best knights were out there doing who knew what. Her hands cradled his face as she pleaded with him to reconsider riding out. He replied, “I must ride out myself to know what has happened to my men.”

Guinevere pleaded aloud, “Your father wasted a year searching for Morgana with little more information than you have now,” she implored him with her eyes, “you are the rightful heir to the throne;it is possible that Morgana has been biding her time and accosting her efforts for Camelot in the near future.”

Arthur’s heart sank in his chest. This is only too true, he was sent on a wild goose chase for a year while his father didn’t have the gall to him that Morgana was really his daughter, Arthur’s half sister. It was coincidence that they happened to spot her when they did that day because he had nearly lost hope that they would ever find her. He shook all over, grabbed his Guinevere for support.

As he hugged her to him, he whispered, “I will send my best scout to scour the area for them if that would comfort you.”  
Guinevere returned his hug. She mumbled into his chest, “That’s all I ask, Arthur. You are a far better man than your father would ever be.”

With laughter that shook both of them, Arthur hugged her closer, kissed the dark curls on top of her head lovingly. If anything inspired him in this world, it was Guinevere’s ever dependable optimism that he was a better man than his father.

A horse and rider bounded towards them—hoof beats trodden against the cobblestone—the rider dismounted in front of Arthur, bowed and extended a letter towards him. Arthur let go of Gwen to take the letter and looked at it with interest. His smile faded—his laughter became a look of horror.

As he handed the letter to Gwen, he prompted her to read it. She read as follows:

My dear Nephew,  
It has come to my attention that my elder brother has fallen ill. As your only blood relation not withstanding ailment, I am sending my messenger ahead of me to convene the point of my arrival. Some alliances I have formed over the years will come in handy at a time like this, but you are going to have to trust me. I’ll be seeing you shortly.  
Agravaine

Gwen looked up from the letter, a look of puzzlement on her face, she asked, “You have an uncle.”

Back turned away from Guinevere, Arthur said over his shoulder, “My father’s younger brother,” he hesitated, “he says he has some alliances, but I don’t trust him.”

As she handed the letter back to Arthur, she answered, “So you have to meet your uncle when he arrives then.”  
Arthur turned back and smiled at Guinevere, he replied, “I have to,” as he grabbed her around the waist, “I can’t let my girl be taken by a charmer like him.”

Gwen pinched his arm gently and giggled. They both reentered the castle to await for the arrival of Agravaine.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Astride Kilgarrah’s back, Merlin sailed through the night—watched as the little houses ran by, people were specks with glowing dots signifying that they were carrying torches. While he looked down, he nearly slid off trying to get a closer look at his surroundings.

Limited visibility due to the increased fog, Kilgarrah ended up staying above the clouds for the majority of the flight. Merlin was grateful that he did not get sick when the dragon took him higher. The air was colder up above the cloud cover, and he gripped Kilgarrah’s neck, rubbed his hands on the scales, to get extra heat from the friction.

The journey was silent for the most part, Kilgarrah wasn’t much of a talker while he flew. Merlin was grateful again for that. His gravelly voice grated on Merlin’s nerves more than he realized. His hands warmed up, he was getting used to the cold. Rain the past few nights had made preparing for the harvest difficult for farmers.

In a sudden descent from their heights, Merlin gripped his _friend_ tighter to keep from falling off his back.  
At last, Kilgarrah spoke, “We have arrived.”

Merlin descended from the dragon’s back, looked around, saw the open plain and the far tree line, turned back to Kilgarrah.

“What is the meaning of this,” he began, “I thought we were supposed to help someone.”

With his toothy grin, Kilgarrah laughed, “Oh, but you are, young warlock, there are few places where I am allowed to go.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Merlin gave him the look. He said tersely, “This is about the old religion, isn’t it?”  
Another laugh from Kilgarrah, he nodded, “You are learning, Merlin. I have faith in you.”

Turned away from the dragon again, Merlin asked, “So, who am I supposed to meet anyway? This better not be a trick, Kilgarrah.”

While his back was to the dragon, Merlin didn’t see the rock that Kilgarrah slyly grabbed from the ground. He rounded on Merlin—crept up behind, silently smashed the rock over Merlin’s head. The crumpled figure Merlin made on the ground prompted the dragon to pick up his favorite warlock, depositing him underneath the only tree within five miles.

-

“Aunt, we must take care of him,” a soft feminine voice said through Merlin’s haze.

Hands lifted him, his body supported by two people holding his shoulders. They walked into a stone building and laid him in a finely decorated room.

A stronger feminine voice replaced the original, it said, “We need to keep the swelling down. He’s got a bump.”

Fidgeting hands administrated over Merlin’s feverish head, wet towels were changed out continuously. The last thing he could remember was a golden blonde head in the light, patting his head gently with the cloth.

Before words could form on his lips, Merlin passed out again from pain.

-

Sunlight streamed across Merlin’s face—two days and nights have passed since he went out—he was woke up in a nobleman’s bedchamber. The last few hours after midnight went by in a blur, he barely remembered Gwaine and Lancelot had been there watching him talk to Kilgarrah. By the time he did, he was already on top of the dragon’s back flying towards through the northern plains. Any human below him would have looked tiny for how high he was in the air, and there was no way of knowing if they had gone after him.

He stretched, and his hand rubbed against a soft down pillow. Sitting up, he didn’t think of how long he had been out, Merlin tried to remember waking up any other time. He looked down at his clothes to find his usual red or blue kerchief not tied around his neck; moreover, he was wearing a nightgown the same as ones he dressed Arthur into for bed. I must be dreaming, he thought to himself.

He scrambled out of bed, hoped he could see if the dragon was maybe outside the window. No such luck though, but there was a draft felt between his legs. He was exposed from the hips down to nothing but the elements. As he tried to cover himself up, he searched the room for his real clothes.

There was a wardrobe across from the window on the other side of the bed he slept in, he dashed to it, opened the doors to find more surprises. His clothes weren’t in here either.

Picked through the wardrobe for something to wear, Merlin headed back to the bed to lay them out. He dressed Arthur enough to know where each piece of clothing went, but he still felt foolish. The mirror next to the bed made him self-conscious of how ridiculous he looked.

A voice that sounded like it came from the hallway shouted, “I am going to be checking on the young man, Aunt Meredith.” The door opened—the voice’s face appeared afterward—Merlin dropped his shirt when he turned around to see who entered the room.

Blonde, petite, nose still raised slightly in the air, Vivian appeared in Merlin’s room, huffy, and in no mood for shenanigans. She eyed Merlin up and down before condemning him in her usual snooty tone, “We didn’t expect you to be up, sir.”

Embarrassed, Merlin picked his shirt up and put it on quickly. He retorted, “Ladies usually knock before entering a man’s chambers unannounced.”

Acting offended, Lady Vivian gasped—held her hand up to her chest in shock—as she shouted again, “You do not talk to me with such disrespect.” She crossed the short distance left intent on slapping him.

The door opened again, this time revealing a middle-aged woman, her hair dark brown instead of Vivian’s blonde, blue eyes the same, slightly taller and a little plumper around her midsection. She chastised Vivian when she came in, “You will not lay a hand on our guest, Vivian,” she smiled warmly at Merlin, “do forgive my niece, young man. Vivian is not used to company.”

As he gathered his wits, Merlin acquiesced, “I am sorry if I have offended her, ma’am.”

The older woman gave a little giggle but straightened immediately. She accepted his apology, “No need to be so formal with me. The name’s Meredith,” she gestured around her, “mistress of Broceliande. You are welcome here as long as you need, my dear.”

“Merlin,” Merlin chimed in, “you can call me Merlin. I am honored by your hospitality.”

Again, the lady Meredith was flattered by Merlin’s genteel spirit. She gave him a warm smile, noticed his shirt was crooked, and straightened it for him. She said, “Thank you, I’m glad there is a young man in this house again. You remind me so much of my son.”

Not wanting to feel left out, Vivian tapped her foot impatiently. She crossed her arms and glared at Merlin in loathing.  
Meredith turned to her niece, her face suddenly sour as she said, “Really, my dear Vivian, you are a gentlewoman, it is unseemly for someone your age to behave in this manner,” she placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “you could learn something from this young man, my darling.”

Horrified, Vivian stared blankly at her aunt without looking at Merlin. Her patience was about to wear thin, and she didn’t need Meredith to chastise her again for insubordination.

One of Lady Meredith’s servants entered the room to say, “We need your help in the dining hall, my lady,” she bowed, “the orchestra singers have threatened to walk out if they don’t get their meal before the feast tonight.”

Remaining calm, Meredith shut her eyes and let out a few deep breaths. Upon opening them, she turned to the young people alongside her.

“You will go out and enjoy the sunshine while you can,” she said, “I must fix the mess that the servants can only do when I am not guiding them.”

For a second, Merlin saw exasperation in Meredith’s mature features, but it was replaced by another smile that spread through to her soft blue eyes. She added, “I have been afraid to allow Vivian leave of the castle for fear that she would be kidnapped, but you will be with her so I’m not worried.”

Merlin held his right hand over his heart, as he swore, “I promise to keep your niece safe when you can’t be there.” He crossed over to Vivian and grabbed her hand, lifted it towards Meredith, he added, “I won’t let her go from my grasp.”

With that affirmation, Meredith left the young people, along with the servant girl who followed her out of the room. Just as soon as her aunt was gone, Vivian pulled her hand out of Merlin’s grasp.

“You would do well to keep your hands off of me, Merlin.”

Puzzled by Vivian, Merlin smiled, asked her one question, “Do you not remember me, Vivian?”

Confusion came over her face, Vivian’s eyebrow twitched uncomfortably for Merlin’s taste. She looked like she was about to scream again. It looked like she could have known, but she was struggling to place her knowledge.

Realization dawned on her face, “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” Her voice slightly higher than a whisper, at least it was an improvement from screaming girl, Merlin thought. She made no move to recognize him any further.

Merlin asked another question, “Were you in Camelot with your father, King Olaf?”

Again, Vivian had no idea what Merlin was going on with the questions, her eyebrows crinkled her forehead in that cute confused way girls had when they thought too hard. It wouldn’t be easy to breech the next subject with Lady Vivian. She clearly did not remember Arthur in any capacity either.

Why did Kilgarrah drop him off here without his knowledge?

He probably should have gotten more for his trouble since Kilgarrah did happen to drool on him to get his attention, not to mention the rock. The overt cleanness of his person told him that he had been given a bath recently, and he also noted that the back of his head was free of any knots, if he saw the dragon again, it would be too soon.

Vivian interrupted his thoughts, “Anyways, we should go outside while it is still nice out,” she added as an afterthought, “Aunt Meredith is right about one thing; she never lets me go out without an escort.” She went around behind Merlin and pushed him towards the door.

They were out in the hallway when Merlin realized he was definitely not dreaming. No, this was definitely not Camelot in a different world, he was really in a different place dressed as a nobleman. Vivian wrapped her arm around the crook of his own, she whispered to him so no one else could hear, “There will be no touching after we get outside. Follow my lead, and I will let you go as soon as we exit the courtyard.”

Without understanding why, Merlin took his other hand and rested it plaintively on Vivian’s still on his elbow. They made their way down the hallway. This castle was filled with twice as many servants as Camelot’s, and all the eyes they passed were staring at him as he went passed them holding Vivian on his arm. The thrill in being noticed was almost as terrifying as knowing that he had been placed with the responsibility of looking after Vivian.

How does she not seem to be enchanted right now? Doubtless, it has been a good 18 months since she was in Camelot, and you wonder about Trickler having survived his journey back to his master’s keep. The scenarios in his head were playing nonstop, and he didn’t know what to make of this Vivian who pretended like nothing was wrong.

She was a beautiful girl and noble. Also, the worst type of noble imaginable, she had been spoiled rotten. It did seem like Meredith kept her in line though which was probably a good sign, but it didn’t explain why Vivian had no memory of Camelot.

An unusual sight to see—at least for Merlin—were the servants who bowed to him as he descended the steps alongside Vivian; he was about to re-examine his assertion that he wasn’t dreaming when the housekeeper came up to them and introduced herself.

“Oh good, you’re up,” she said sternly, not as kindly as Meredith, but still nice, “we don’t need young people under foot. It would be best if you two kids went along quickly.”

She shooed them out quickly as they were met by an elderly man holding the door for them. Not before he ushered in some banners and food in for what Merlin saw were for a feast designed for a birthday.

The man saw Vivian, tipped his hat, and said, “You must not ruin your surprise, my lady, and your aunt has been working hard all week.”

Vivian answered, “Very well, Forsythe, my escort is here to keep me company until it is time for the feast.”  
Forsythe turned his attention to Merlin, bowed, and let them pass by him out into the open air. He told Merlin, “You keep her safe now. Our Vivian is very special to us.”

Merlin found his voice to say, “I won’t let anything happen to her, Forsythe.”

Satisfied by Merlin’s assertion, Forsythe returned to his original duty of telling the servants where to take each item brought into the castle. Merlin turned his attention to Vivian, who looked at him curiously. He was startled by her sudden change of face.

“You didn’t have to say that,” she said, out of any servant’s earshot, “I am not a helpless creature that needs to be tended to all the time.”

His cheeks burned when he realized that he still held onto her protectively. As he let her go, she stepped cautiously away from him, she asserted, “I am going to be down by water’s edge if you fancy joining me, but you probably aren’t much of a swimmer.”

Lady Vivian turned on her heels and walked down the path, which apparently led to the water. Her skirt flounces swayed in the light breeze that came up. As he stared after her, Merlin caught himself staring and looked around at the outside of the castle itself.

Broceliande was situated on a cliff, overlooking the sea below, the path that Vivian followed down to the water’s edge was covered by thick trees. Ivy encompassed the walls of Broceliande, three turrets were visible from his position to the west of the surrounding wall.

It was like he had stepped into a fairy tale, but he couldn’t pinch himself to wake up from this dream. The waves crashed against the rocks below him, and they brought his thoughts back to the present.

Vivian had gone down there to sit on the beach; he sped after her down the winding path to the sea.


	6. Chapter 6

6

About the time the sun hit its apex over countryside, Lancelot and Gwaine stopped in a small farm village within the unclaimed regions of either king or lord. They were interested in getting food in their bellies, and maybe a horse or two, would make their search for Merlin go much smoother.

The townsfolk were not the most helpful by any stretch of the imagination. Most of them went to bed at a reasonable hour to get back into the fields before the afternoon heat got too much for them. Many of them only gave answers by saying, ‘Talk to the town drunk’ or ‘Ask the village moron.’

None too helpful, Lancelot was starting to get antsy about the quest that was before them. His doubts were voiced to Gwaine, but he brushed them off and continued asking strangers questions whether or not they had seen a dragon fly in this direction. The one promising lead they had was a young girl no older than they were who had been up last night nursing her newborn when she looked up at the sky outside to see the shape of a dragon blocked out the moon.

To elaborate further, the girl couldn’t because her excuse happened to be the extra fog over the northern forest, typical. On the plains, dragons were more prevalent than further south in Camelot. Even though he spent a month or two in the region, Gwaine hadn’t seen one dragon before this incident; of course, he was reassured by this girl that she had seen two or three different ones in her life, but they mostly inhabited the cliffs and low hanging eaves of the higher country.

Thanking her for her time and apologized for disturbing her, Gwaine bowed and exited, soon followed by Lancelot.  
“That was a right waste of time,” Gwaine said, indignant, “how are we going to find Merlin now?”  
Without saying anything, Lancelot clapped Gwaine on the shoulder as he went to mount his horse. He looked down at Gwaine from his mount.

Gwaine returned the look, but he said, “Don’t you find it odd that dragons are still around these parts and not in Camelot?”

This time Lancelot shrugged but answered, “I would have thought the old dragon lords would have wiped them all out during the Great Purge.”

To illustrate his disgust, Gwaine spit into the grass as he walked his own horse well away from the young woman’s house. He demanded, “I thought that tale of the dragon lords was merely a myth, no more than a legend.”

“What do you know about the dragon lords, Gwaine?” Lancelot asked. It was not meant to insight anyone to violence, but Gwaine took it the wrong way.

He started his tale as he followed Lancelot along, “I barely remember my mother telling me this story when I was young about men who had the ability to tame a dragon.

They were the most feared out of all magicians in the old religion. With the ability to control the will of a dragon, no one knew whether they were to be used for good or ill. Certain kings—namely Uther Pendragon—were wary of the effect taming a dragon would have on a kingdom. The sons of dragon lords would receive the gift of dragon tongue from their fathers once they died.

According to my mother, during the Great Purge had the dragons wiped out of the southern half of the country, it was declared that all dragons were wiped out. Of course, they needed a few examples to be set for other dragons to follow. Banishment was preferable to genocide in their case, and they left their most cherished bulwark as prisoner under the castle in Camelot.”

Lancelot interrupted him, “Do you mean to tell me that there is or was a dragon underneath our noses during our time in Camelot?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Gwaine continued, “I don’t know if it is true, but I seem to believe it even more so now after recent events.”

They walked along in silence for a while. Neither of them spoke as they were each trying to grasp the context of the story into the present predicament. It took them until they found themselves at the tavern when they both snapped their fingers and said at once.

“Merlin’s a dragon lord.”

The realization hit them, and they both knew it must be true. No one spoke the language of the dragons anymore; not even scholars of the old religions, they weren’t born to fathers with that particular skill.

Entering into the nearest tavern, they sat down at the table closest to the door, ordered their drinks. Clanking their mugs together, they downed one round of meade after another.

After they were good and tanked, they both agreed that it would be best for Lancelot to relay the news back to Camelot as soon as possible. Of course, the word would have to wait since they were both smashed to pieces, and Lancelot could barely keep his eyes open.

Ordering a single bed each for the night, Lancelot stopped Gwaine before he went to his room. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to mention that Merlin is a dragon lord to Arthur.”

It took a while for Gwaine to take the hint, but he understood and winked, “This will be ours and Merlin’s little secret.” With that, he closed the door behind him, and Lancelot stayed behind to collect his bearings.

Foggy headed as he was, Lancelot closed and locked the door to his own room, fell asleep not long after his head hit the pillow.

-

Sitting in the council chamber room waiting for his uncle to arrival, Arthur started to get bored really quick. The knights wanted to make plans to search in his stead, but he expressed his wishes to be one to do the order on whether he allowed himself or anyone else to search for his lost men. Gwen took her place at his right hand—where Merlin should have been—unfortunately, no one had seen him anywhere.

He had been anxious for his uncle’s arrival to be over with, but the appearance of him was not something he expected. The bells rang to signal that someone approached the castle. Arthur stood up from his seat and paced around the front of the chamber. It kept him distracted from other more pressing matters, whether or not to kill his manservant when he saw him again at the top of the list.

Agravaine entered the chamber followed by two lines of black suited knights walked single file on either side of him. The man himself was intimidating, and his reputation preceded him. He had an arrogance about him that angered Arthur. The only sane member of his family left, and he hated the man’s guts from the smugness of his face to the cut of shiny boots.

It took all the strength in Arthur’s body to remain cordial to his uncle. Agravaine insulted his Guinevere, but he couldn’t reprimand the man without tarnishing the title of king of Camelot. His father had been right; this was not the place for Guinevere.

In his way of making recompense, he escorted Gwen out of the chambers—much to the chagrin of Agravaine—Arthur didn’t care if it hurt the man’s pride. A noble heart is far more important to him than noble blood any day.

Further insulted, Agravaine walked out of the feast Arthur planned for him because they served servants at the head of the royal table. Added, Arthur asked, “What? Do you not like the future queen of Camelot?”

As he glared at Arthur, and in turn Guinevere, Agravaine took his leave for the night. The entertainment for the night was most enjoyable after that little display of abhorrent chauvinism. His own men were more appreciative of Guinevere and appreciated the fine garment the dressmakers had made for her.

In the past, Guinevere had received old dressed from Morgana’s closets as another payment for the hard work she had done for her mistress over the years. With Morgana gone however, Arthur decided it was time to hire the dressmaker to give Gwen a few dresses that would be made for her and only suited to her alone.

Tonight, her dress—separated into two parts—the overdress, deep purple dyed wool, tied in the front with laces that revealed a light purple underneath. She radiated beauty further with one of Morgana’s rarely worn amethyst necklaces. Even though she was advised against it, she also added a past touch of placing violets in newly refined curly hair.  
When he first saw her before dinner, Arthur bowed before her, “You have stolen my breath, fair maiden,” as he kissed her hand, he looked up into her eyes, “how do I expect to get it back?”

Gwen giggled behind her other hand and swatted him playfully. She answered, “I have done no such thing, kind sir.”  
Their playful banter continued for a while before Agravaine showed up to interrupt them. It was not a welcome interruption, and Arthur was almost going to tell his uncle so, but Gwen spoke to Agravaine first.

“Would you like me to introduce you to some of the court, sir?”

He looked like he was ready to refuse, but he changed his mind at the last second. As he accepted Guinevere’s offer, she took his hand and paraded him around the dining hall introducing him to all the regular nobles in Camelot’s main hall. It might have been the drink that got to him or maybe he was as intoxicated by Gwen’s gown as every other male in attendance. Agravaine seemed quite taken with her, and Arthur almost started to feel a sense of relief that his family hadn’t abandoned him completely.

The music had started and Agravaine asked Gwen for the first dance. He didn’t think anything of it, and Arthur allowed it again. The guest of honor got to choose who he danced with, and it was a show of good faith that they trusted each other to go through with this dance.

It wasn’t until the flute player started their solo that Arthur noticed his uncle whispered something into Gwen’s ear. Briefly, he saw her face when she turned through the dance, and her face was horrified. As she turned away from him, she whispered into Agravaine’s ear herself—something that offended him more than he would have let on in every day conversation.

Short of disrespecting his host, he broke from Guinevere’s embrace after the dance was over, bowed to Arthur, and exited the room. Neither Gwen nor Arthur saw his uncle reenter the hall, it was a surprising turn of events.  
When Arthur came up to Gwen afterwards, he asked, “What was that about?”

Of course, Gwen was mum on the issue, held a finger up to her lips, he knew that nothing good had been said; moreover, Gwen was too noble to let someone get the better of her. Whatever the words they exchanged, it was apparent that Gwen would not be talking any time soon.

If Agravaine came down to dine with them the next day, his heart would surely stop beating when he found out what Arthur did next. He dropped down on his knees and kissed Gwen’s hands. Praised Guinevere’s stalwart ability to be calm and collected under stress, in a roundabout way, he asked, “Guinevere, will you marry me?”

Gasps resonated through the room as the sound of Arthur’s voice hushed everyone’s chatter. It was the mark of a great leader; you spoke and people stopped what they were doing to listen. Everyone waited with baited breath for Gwen’s answer. The sudden question through her for a moment, but she recovered quick enough.

She pulled Arthur up to his feet and whispered in his ear, “Of course, I’ll marry you,” she added, “do what is right, and bring your men home.” With a chaste kiss, Gwen moved away from Arthur’s ear, but Arthur was too excited as he pulled her back towards him for a real kiss.

When they parted that time, it was true that Guinevere knew more about Agravaine than she had let on. As her way of protecting Arthur, she told him to go after the lost boys any way. In all reasoning, it is perfectly alright for a girl to change her mind.

Growth in ourselves fuels the engine of maturity and wisdom, as old philosophers once said.

-

The next day, Lancelot rode as hard as he could when he woke up before the dawn, getting to Camelot before the late evening revelers finally decided to get some sleep after a long night of drinking and dancing. It was mid afternoon by the time he arrived in the courtyard, and yes, there were still some drunken people lining the streets looking for their ale.

Aside from wondering who was here to cause so much excitement, Lancelot dismounted from his rented horse—handed the reigns over to a valet—ascended the steps of castle, burst through the chamber doors with guards followed suit. They were not used to Lancelot coming in late, and he almost rarely burst into a meeting without knocking first.

Having nursed a hangover all morning, Arthur looked up when Lancelot burst into the room. He stood up, walked over to him, and hugged him like an old friend.

“I’m happy you’re here, Lancelot.”

His sincerity was genuine even after the stress of what he has gone through in the last 24 hours. Gaius’ cure had only started to work an hour after taking it, and he was ready for better news.

He looked around Lancelot, searched for the others, “Where’s Gwaine and Merlin? Are they not with you?”

Lancelot hung his head in shame. He looked straight at Arthur when he said, “Gwaine and I saw Merlin get kidnapped by a dragon at the watch tower last night,” he paused for effect. With merely stunned silence, he continued, “we followed the dragon’s trail, but we lost it after he went through the Northern Plains.”

Gasps came from everyone present in the room, Arthur found his voice as he asked, “How do you know dragons exist? I killed the only dragon left alive.”

Shaking his head in the negative, Lancelot said, “Gwaine and I believe that you only rid this half of the country of dragons. More of them are reported to inhabit the Northern hill country and plains,” he paused again, “at least this is what the word is from the local townsfolk in the region.”

A sudden chill ran down Arthur’s back, his father’s edict in over twenty years only extended so far as the borders Camelot had created for itself. Magic had always been a dirty word in his father’s household, and there was strict punishments for those who were caught during the practice of spells and enchantments. Again, his world view had been rocked; his father’s influence dampened by truth from a trusted knight.

With his next words, he gave the order to move out and engage magic as well as its users. Gwen started to protest by reminding him of his obligation to the kingdom, and his uncle is still a guest in his home.

Taking Gwen aside, Arthur said to her alone, “I place this kingdom in your hands, Guinevere. You will give the orders if the kingdom is attacked by Morgana or anyone else from Cenred’s former kingdom,” as an aside, he added to Leon, “you are to stay behind and assist Gwen.”

Leon bowed to Arthur as he knew it always fell to him as second in command to maintain the troops while Arthur was away.


	7. Chapter 7

7

As he followed the path down the beach, Merlin found Vivian laying down in the sand without a layer between her and the ground beneath her. She was so still that his heart almost stopped—thinking she might have been killed before he got there—he ran over to see if she was still breathing.

Feeling the sun leave her face, Vivian mumbled in her snooty voice, “So you finally followed me down here, haven’t you, Merlin,” she opened her eyes to him, “would you mind moving out of my sunlight?”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to know that no one had gotten here before he could, saved to would be his new confidence from Meredith. No one had treated him like an equal not since becoming friends with Gwen, and there were never any noble people who looked at him in any other way.

Sitting up, Vivian said louder, “If you are going to be here, I would prefer you to either sit next to me or move somewhere else.”

“It’s not proper for a lady to be out on the beach without protection,” Merlin said, sarcastically.

As she had leaned back again, she opened her eyes to stare at him. She shook her head as she made a tsk tsk with her tongue in teeth. No other words were spoken, and they continued to stare each other down. Vivian cocked her head to the side as she examined Merlin, she replied, “You’re not a nobleman, are you?”

Caught finally, Merlin nodded his head and sat down a foot from Lady Vivian, who smiled knowingly as she returned to sunning herself. He asked her cautiously, “Are you going to tell your aunt about me?”

Without opening her eyes again, Vivian answered, “There is no way for her to believe me if I tried. I’ll just have to live with the knowledge that you are common until I leave this place.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at her apparent jab at his parentage. It’s not like he didn’t know who she was, and what she had happened to her in Camelot. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem willing to talk about anything at the moment. He picked himself up and started walking down the beach. As he picked up a seashell, he looked back to see Vivian still in the same place.

For someone who appears to be in a solitude state quite often, Vivian was quite content laying down in the sand by herself. It wasn’t Merlin’s place to disturb her happiness; meanwhile, he turned toward the far side of the beach and glimpsed movement from a place in the rock wall.

Keeping an eye on Vivian, Merlin made his way over to the place where he saw something vanish behind a wall. His suspension only intensified when he realized that the wall formed a cave to capture the surf when the tide came in with the morning. He didn’t want to lose sight of Vivian, but he went around the corner and called into the darkness.

“Who’s there?”

The reply was a deep voiced, “Hello, Merlin, fancy seeing you again.”

Merlin shook his head in disgust. He answered Kilgarrah, “Fancy, huh, I would like to have you know that I could have had a knot on my head. I don’t know what your game is, dragon, but there is something wrong if Vivian. I didn’t think that magic dissipates over time; she does not appear to be infatuated with Arthur.”

As if it were expected, Kilgarrah laughed. He was rolling on his belly with laughter for a good minute before he spoke again, “I was wondering when you would notice, young warlock.”

Glaring at the dragon, Merlin struggled to contain his anger. “Why have you brought me here?”

Alas, the dragon made no point to say anything else as he vanished back into the cave. Their little heart-to-hearts never inspired anyone to take action before, and it left him even more confused about the behavior Vivian was displaying. He came back around the corner as he kicked sand toward the sea, returning to seat on the side of Vivian closest to the cave.

She didn’t open her eyes again, but she said, “Lunch will be here soon enough. Aunt has given orders to send us food around mid day,” she paused to look at him, “I hope you don’t mind that you will have to cut your own meat when we get the meal.”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders and sat down next to Vivian. He asked this question without thinking, “Don’t you get bored out here laying on this beach?”

As she pretended not to hear him, she turned her head away from him and continued to nap. She muttered in her sleep, “This is the only time of the day which I get to myself. I would be happy if you tried not to disturb me, Merlin.”

It wasn’t hard wired into him to sleep in the middle of the day after three years of working under Arthur’s strict princely schedule. Sure, noblewomen slept all the time in the late afternoon to keep from being overheated and exhausted at night when the parties occurred, but Vivian was doing it before lunch. This was not normal behavior for a noble woman.

Another question he had been dying to ask since he saw her walk into his room. “Are you in love with Arthur Pendragon?”  
All attempts to avoid him were pushed aside as Vivian sat up and stared him, he had lain down not three feet away from her. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I loathe Arthur Pendragon.”

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. Maybe Kilgarrah wasn’t so useless after all, he raised Vivian into a state of something not seen before now.

“Interesting,” he mused aloud. Vivian looked at him with disgust.

Her voice got shrill when she spoke next, “I know you belong to the Pendragon household, servant Merlin, I would appreciate it if you don’t talk down to me like you something I don’t.”

To appease her, Merlin bowed his head, zipped his lips. It calmed her down a little bit, but now she was awake and ready to fight. He had to hold her arms down at her side to restrain her from any further harm to herself or him.  
“Let go of me,” she complained, as she wiggled against his firm grip on her arms. She was probably the only girl he could restrain since her upper body strength was not like Gwen’s as a blacksmith’s daughter.

They were interrupted by the maid who came down the path with a tray of food and a blanket over her shoulder. She came up to us, spotted the back of Vivian’s dress, exclaimed, “Your aunt will have a fit when she sees all that sand in your clothes.”

Looking from myself back to Vivian, she asked, “Was I interrupting anything personal? Lunch is ready, and do use the blanket, my dear Vivian, we don’t want the mistress to have another spell over your habits.”

Having returned to her normal self, Merlin let Vivian go, and she turned around to acknowledge that she will use the blanket. As well, she told the maid she was free to go tell her aunt whatever she wished. We weren’t hiding anything, according to her. The maid set the food down next to Vivian, and the blanket was laid over top to keep the sand from getting to it.

As Merlin watched the maid walk back up the path, Vivian spent no time at all spreading out the blanket on the ground. She set the food tray down in the middle of the blanket—brushed her skirts of excess sand onto the beach—sat gingerly on the blanket as she started to dig into her lunch.

In the middle of preparation, she looked up and said tartly, “Are you just going to stand gaping at me while I eat?” She patted the empty space on the blanket, “Wipe the sand off and have a seat. Aunt will not be happy if you track sand or mud into her house.”

Doing as he was told, Merlin sat down next to her, and she handed him a portion of the food tray; of course, she didn’t have to say anything about cutting my own meat since the chicken was falling off the bone. They both ended up eating it with greasy fingers, and she looked almost common herself how greedy she took the drink.

If Merlin hadn’t have been told it was her birthday, he would have sworn that she was in need of a good meal, but she was a well fed noble. She looked like she was glowing as she ate voraciously during our lunch. His mind raced as Merlin contemplated the possibility that something about this place effected magic and in retrospect enchantments, and it also thought that some outside influence might have affected the young girl’s judgment.

His chicken was only eaten sparingly since he wasn’t very hungry at the moment. He probably hadn’t eaten since the prior rock incident, Gaius would notice if he didn’t eat when he got back to Camelot. Merlin sat and watched Vivian eat, and he was amazed when she finally leaned back against her arms, rubbed her belly to signal she was full.  
It was when she was finished that she asked, “You’re not hungry?”

Merlin shook my head, but his mouth didn’t find the words to say anything.

She frowned, picked up a piece of leftover chicken, handed it to me. “I order you to eat this,” she said.  
With trepidation, Merlin grabbed his stomach in a gesture that should have told her that he wasn’t hungry, but she insisted that as it was her birthday. No one would go hungry today. He acquiesced, took the wing from her, nibbled at it carefully.

As she watched me eat, she giggled, “You have no idea how to eat chicken, do you?”

Admittedly, Merlin never took to watching other people eat before because he was too worried about spilling ale into someone else’s lap if his lips missed the cup. He shook my head, and Vivian shoved what Merlin had left of my chicken into his face.

“You’ve got to devour it,” she answered my negative as she pushed the chicken into my face. “The grease is meant to get into your fingers when you eat it.”

This wasn’t a typical noblewoman, and it certainly wasn’t the girl he remembered having to fend off Arthur what seems like years ago. Whatever Vivian learned while in her aunt’s care, it must have done some wonders to her self-esteem since she was not with her father at the moment.

Fingers greasy when he finished, Merlin wiped the grease from the leftover chicken on his pant leg and showed his fingers to Vivian. She lifted herself up from the blanket and made her way to the sea. As he followed her, she bent down in lady-like fashion to rinse the grease from her hands, Merlin got up and did the same.

As he shook his hands of the excess salt water, he was splashed in the face. Merlin’s mouth was open and salt got onto his tongue. Spitting out the saltiness, laughter came from the water as Merlin glared at Vivian with hitched up skirt knee deep in the salt brine.

In between giggles, she kicked more water in his direction as she shouted to him, “Come join me,” she pulled her hair loose from its hairpins and threw them towards shore. They didn’t make it anywhere close, as Merlin had to wade further into the water to retrieve them. Vivian giggled and fell back into the water laughing hysterically.

Merlin knew he had to stop her from being drifted out to sea, so he tossed the hairpins under hand back onto the vacated blanket—removed some of his assess clothes as well. Waded back into the sea after Vivian, she splashed him again, and Merlin turned his head avoid getting it in the mouth.

Even though he knew how to swim from the river in Ealdor, the current was quite strong today as Merlin kept being pushed back as Vivian went further away. He tried to stand up, but he realized they were too far out to stand comfortably.

As he waited for a wave to die down, he shouted, “Vivian, don’t wander too far out.” Merlin’s head went under, the next thing he knew, Vivian was right on top of him, holding his head above water.

She wasn’t being conceited when she wiped the hair out of his eyes. Her voice showed genuine concern, “Are you alright?” Her dress was plastered to her skin; it showed the tiny circumference of her waist and the distinct shape of her breasts against the fabric. Obviously, she shed the thicker garment for her undergarments after she dove into the water. As she pulled Merlin towards shore, he stood up when they got into the shallower water, pulled her against him instead.

The sudden rush of air surprised her—especially Merlin—as he felt his own strength supporting her body clinging to him. He almost lost his balance, steadied himself as he held Vivian in his arms. Even though she was waterlogged, she was still light. With a gentle hand, Merlin mimiced the same gesture she did to him not a moment before, pushed the hair out of her face. Her blonde hair was darkened wet by the sea water—her eyes were a very bright blue in the late afternoon sun.

Vivian held her distance from him. They were elbow’s width apart—her grasp on Merlin’s arm tightening—he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be this far away. As he pulled her towards him, Vivian gasped but made no move to leave. The pad of his free thumb touched her lips; she quivered at his touch.  
Excitement built up inside him, he knew what would happen next; probably, it would have gotten that far, if she hadn’t whispered, “It’s about time for us to head home.”

Deflated, Merlin took her hand, escorted her out of the water. Vivian picked up her sopping wet clothes and his, along with her hairpins, grabbed his hand again as they made their way back up the path towards Broceliande.

Neither of them was prepared for what Meredith would say.


	8. Chapter 8

8

It wasn’t that the lady was shocked by the behavior. Her nose turned up a little as she shouted to get them cleaned within the hour. Merlin ushered into his own rooms, he was stripped of his water logged underclothes, and tossed naked into the steaming tub of water.

The water was a little too hot, and Merlin grit his teeth to keep from screaming. His face turned beet red—the men attended to him didn’t notice—scrubbed down with lye soap and lavender. Sand was falling out of places he didn’t know sand could get to naturally. He felt humiliated by the hands which scrubbed his body so raw; which, it was probably because Meredith had come in with to say.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

For the life of him, there wasn’t a patch of skin left on his body that wasn’t pink and tender to the touch by the time he was sufficient enough for his handlers. They dressed him even more immaculately than he had been dressed before the day spent with Vivian. Showed a reflection of himself in the mirror, he thought to himself, if I wasn’t who I am, I would think I was a prat.

How could a clot pole like Arthur stand to wear clothing this thick, it was almost sunset, but it was still summer. The rain from the previous nights had not really cooled down the hot days.

He was escorted down to the dining hall where Vivian was already seated at the head of the table. It made sense for her to be there, but it felt awkward to be placed on the other side of lady Meredith staring out at a room full of people he hadn’t noticed before now.

Broceliande was a miniature kingdom all by itself apparently. From the outside walls, Merlin concluded the place was an ancient fortress built in the days before the old religion was banned by Uther. The servants he passed only that morning were obviously not only Meredith’s staff, but there were some other nobles seated along with them.

The open rectangle shape of the table caused his eye to wander over the other guests. To see more closely what he hadn’t before, it was striking how this older gentlemen—no older than Gaius by the looks of him—was dressed like a knight, but he was decrepit. Hunched over in his seat, he was assisted by a young maiden, Merlin would have guessed granddaughter, who helped him sit up when the dinner arrived.

Servants came in and served Vivian first since it was her birthday. She pondered over her dish even though there was no choice to be made; the plate set down before her—heaped with pork and mashed potatoes—she waited until everyone had been served to dig in her helpings. It seemed really difficult for her to contain her composure waiting for everyone to be served, but she did it much to Merlin’s surprise.

Across from the old man hunched over, two young people—looked like siblings—whispered to one another. The girl covered her mouth with her hand and said something to her identical male counterpart next to her. Both with reddish-blonde hair, she spotted him looking at her and stuck out her tongue at him. Merlin turned around quickly to face the front as he concentrated on his own plate.

That chicken he ate earlier must have gotten to him because he could feel his stomach rumbling and bubbling. He covered his mouth to hide a belch, in retrospect, he was close to puking.

Lady Meredith saw Merlin covered his mouth, she smiled as she asked, “You simply must try the pork, dear. It’s delicious.”

On her other side, Vivian looked like she couldn’t get enough. She fed to her heart’s content, and Merlin started feeling sicker. How she could throw away that much food, he thought, even though it’s her birthday; it’s not exactly healthy.

Gaius would have a fit with the eating habits of these people, he later thought. They were stuffing their faces as if nothing was going to come for them tomorrow. Another uneasy feeling went through Merlin’s being, he couldn’t possibly be under an enchantment. Everyone looked so normal, but he felt even more awful by the second.

About to voice something to Lady Meredith, Merlin was interrupted by her announcement of the entertainment for the evening. Two minstrel singers came in, one of them carried a lute; they both sang alluring melodies of past days gone.

A particularly haunting solo from the non-lute player alarmed him out of his sick state.

A long time ago, in ye olde Broceliande, there lived a young baron and wife  
They worked off the land, bordered by the sea  
Nothing would keep them from living; they plowed with their strife  
Lost to them, a baby boy dost three  
No matter the cost, it shook them with loss  
They bartered a nephew, with no room to grow  
Sacrificed to the Gods, the oldest son did cross  
Into the afterlife, his spirit did go.  
If your firstborn dost not sacrifice,  
A curse of the house Lot would suffice.

The daunting melody made the rest of the room fall silent—a reverie of sorts—Merlin looked around at the rest of the group. They sat awestruck, in a trance. It wasn’t until after the song was finished that he realized what was wrong with the people of this house. They were trapped under a spell of their own making.

From what he collected, it appeared that the first born male of the owner of the house had to sacrifice himself before the witness of the Gods. It was a sign of good faith in the order of the old religion that you offer yourself up to them as penance. Merlin shuddered to think how long the people here had been living with this curse. According to legends, curses were only broken by the reemergence of the line for which the owner is predicated from in the story.  
Problem was, Merlin didn’t know who Lot was, let alone who his descendents could be. Lady Meredith didn’t have any children that he has seen, but she had spent an awful lot of time getting Merlin ready this evening.  
His blood suddenly ran cold.

He couldn’t possibly be who they thought he was. His father was Balinor, the last dragon lord, before he passed it on to himself. Hunith, his mother, is a native of Ealdor in the Eastern kingdoms. As he wracked his brain, he looked over to see Vivian as she stared open mouthed at him.

He couldn’t tell, but he thought she mouthed, ‘You look pale. Are you feeling alright?’

Of course, he wasn’t feeling alright. He had only figured out now that he was likely going to be sacrificed unto some table as penance for the wrong that a past ancestor of this house had transpired. It was even more angering to note that Vivian wasn’t in the direct line of descendents either. If her father, King Olaf, had transported her here himself; he would likely have been sacrificed, but he wasn’t who they wanted.

How did he get caught up in this mess, there is no way he could weasel out of this predicament. This was the reason why Lady Meredith was doting him like some noble warrior. Butter him up, and then he had no choice but to drop on his sword. Only thing missing, he had no enticing vixen to allude passion in his loins.

Oh wait, scratch that. He was looking straight at her, and she looked terrified. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination, but it seemed like everyone started carrying on as the minstrels continued their musical arrangement. Lady Meredith called for a toast—everyone lifted their goblets—Vivian did the same timidly. A weak smile pursed her lips, she wasn’t in her earlier mood anymore.

The siblings, introduced to him as lord and lady Trelaine, were in fact co-inheritors of their father’s estate. The lady was not as chatty with him as she was with her brother before the dinner arrived. Sophia Trelaine had not the elegance of Lady Meredith, but all of the Lady Vivian’s earlier qualities for abject distaste of things not of noble blood. Merlin was about to suspect that the twins themselves could sniff out like bloodhounds that he wasn’t of Northern noble descent.

No one would dare question the lady of the house at her own niece’s birthday celebration. They did have some degree of decorum, and it was not delved into by either Sophia or Robb, as the Lord Trelaine went by familiarly. Bowing and sending their congratulations to the birthday girl, the twins went back to their seat to continue watching the performance.

Another party guest, not mentioned before, came up to congratulate lady Vivian on her coming of age. As a full-fledged lady, they would be expecting her to take a husband soon enough. Negating the conversation, Lady Meredith broke in, “We will have to talk that over with her father, King Olaf. Our Vivian is only staying with us for safety, but the real decisions will be up to Olaf.”

Merlin felt uneasy again, listening to the conversation next to him, forthcoming nuptials, ladies coming of age, Vivian with children. That all seemed a little sudden; even for someone as dim headed as Vivian, she was right there listening to these older women talk about her like some trophy wife for any noble man lucky enough to snag her. It wasn’t his place to say what he told Arthur before he almost married Elena.

Five minutes of talk were too much for Vivian after a while, she stood up and shouted at them, “How dare you talk about me getting married like some prized pony, I’m right here. If you need me, I’ll be upstairs in my room,” she walked in a huff towards the door, turned, and rephrased, “on second thought, I don’t want any of you to come find me.” With that, she was gone, and the party returned to its normal humdrum.

Stunned—not the word Merlin would use to describe his reaction—it was more disbelief that lady Vivian would be quite this headstrong. His past interactions with her left him feeling sorry for her. Now, it was like he cheered for her to find her own path. She was out of her father’s shadow here; like Arthur before her, she had a choice in the matter.

Of course, this didn’t deter the cackling hen from remarking on Vivian’s outburst. She sniffed, “With an attitude like that, it would be a miracle for her to a get a man to notice her, let alone have the nerve to marry her.”

Angry, Merlin slammed his plate down, this shocked the ladies as well as the other guests around the room, he stood up to speak, “I know it isn’t my place to interject into the affairs of other households,” he paused to look at faces as they glued their eyes on him, “but I can’t let this go by unfettered,” he pointed in the direction of Vivian’s room, “you carry on about your own precious lives like nothing is the matter, but the one person’s life that mattered tonight is upstairs crying because you won’t let her live her own life, making her own choices.

Lady Vivian was not the brightest person I’ve met. The first time I met her, I was, still technically am, a manservant in Camelot.” Several gasps erupted, he continued, “she was placed under an enchantment to fall in love with Prince Arthur, my boss. Unfortunately, we never fixed the spell she was under since it could only be broken by the kiss of her true love.”

After his lengthy rant, Lady Meredith stood up and applauded, “You, Merlin, are an inspiration. I would gladly dub you the knight and champion of Broceliande.”

Commotion was stirred outside the dining hall, there were guards that shouted, “Don’t let the intruder in.”  
A familiar voice shouted them down, “You let me through. I am the one you want.” His hair swished as he flew into the room followed by a handful of men wearing green tunics.

Gwaine stood before the dining hall attendees, bowed, and said, “Lovely party. Mind if I come in.”


	9. Chapter 9

9

As he woke up the next morning, Gwaine was groggy from the drink the night before as he tossed himself out of bed an hour after Lancelot left for Camelot. Blood brothers as they were now, they each cleaned their wound with the drinks they ordered and kicked back the night before. It was Gwaine that wanted to have a little bit of fun, but after they lost Lancelot’s horse, Gwaine was told to stop gambling away their stuff.

His last words to Lancelot were “You are my conscience. Guide me.”

Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder, pulled him up like a puppet by the string, and dragged him to The Flaming Dragoon, a less seedy tavern than their original stop called The Dancing Pirate. In a small merchant village, a town with two taverns was rare. Hospitable folk, like lords and ladies, dined and slept at The Flaming Dragoon. It was certainly the place where two disguised knights of Camelot would find more reputable than the shady dealings of an eye-patched store owner named Dawson.

While in their commute between two taverns, they heard word that the young nobleman of Broceliande had returned to claim his father’s birthright. A celebration on the eve of when the ceremony would take place would be held the day after tomorrow—the night of the Autumnal Equinox—when evening tide was shortest than any other time of the year.

Exchanged looks between Gwaine and Lancelot, the former said, “I feel sorry for the poor slub who has taken that task.” He leaned against Lancelot as he finished, throwing up whatever had been in his stomach prior to speaking. It was all the ale that had been in his system; no solid chunks of food anywhere to be seen.

Having taken up Gwaine’s cause, Lancelot heaved him over his friend’s horse and walked him the rest of the way to the inn. Once inside, they were attended by a friendly maid named Lynette. She smiled and greeted them warmly, noticed Gwaine’s sodden face and went to brew a pot of stew for the pair of them.

Lynette ordered a bath for both Lancelot and Gwaine. They both looked dreadful in their dirty brown get-ups. It would have made them stick out like sore thumbs if they had worn their Pendragon reds through town; therefore, it was safer and less conspicuous to the locals in the area when they were taken in.

With the bath finished for both of them, Lynette served them each a heaping helping of her special recipe stew. Their first bites were so good, Gwaine ended up licking the bowl and asked for seconds. Lynette giggled as she served him another helping.

Her tinkling voice sang, “I’m glad somebody’s appreciating my cooking,” she looked over at Lancelot who politely spooned his stew into his mouth, “you are the gentleman, I take it.”

Lancelot smiled, put his spoon down for a minute to say, “Thank you for your kindness, my lady. It’s been a while since my friend here has had a good meal,” he gestured towards Gwaine’s shoveling food down his gullet, “Gwaine, you animal, where are your manners?”

Chastened, Gwaine stopped, blushed, apologized to Lynette, “I beg your forgiveness, madam, but it’s been awhile since my tongue has tasted such delicious food.”

As shocked as she should have been, Lynette was actually quite taken by the genuine apologies Gwaine made to her. She had a bubbly personality that reflected in her laughing greenish-gray eyes. Her dark-blonde hair pulled back in a rat’s nest for her work, wisps of hair fell down around her girlish round cheek bones.

They offered to pay Lynette for her stew, but she brushed it off. She said, “The stew is on the house, but you will have to pay my father to stay the night here.” With a wink, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Gwaine stared after Lynette, wide-eyed, he caught himself when he noticed a bigger man come towards them. Who they could only assume was Lynette’s father, it was clear their assumption was correct because he snapped their attention away from his daughter quickly. The father must know what his daughter does to men when she works in the tavern. He laid his foot down right there.

“We do not take kindly to strange men oogling our women folk around here, strangers,” he boasted.

Promptly embarrassed, Lancelot acquiesced, “My apologies for myself and my friend, your daughter was very generous to us, and we wanted to stand up to see her out of the room.”

The bigger man stood up straighter, eyed Lancelot up and down, squinted, “You’re not from around here, are you?”  
Lancelot shook his head. He picked up his pack, sifted through it, pulled out his red tunic, and said, “I was recently knighted Sir Lancelot to the court of Camelot,” he pulled out Gwaine’s tunic as well, “this is my brother-in-arms, Sir Gwaine, also of Camelot.” As if on cue, Gwaine nodded his head in acknowledgement.

When it was his turn to speak, Gwaine said, “We do not intend to dishonor you or your family.”

With much deliberation, the older, bigger man relented his condescending glare on the young male knights who stood before him. He saluted them, “Sir Lancelot, Sir Gwaine, the name’s Ector. You are welcome here; you can even take a shot on my daughter if you wish.” Ector guffawed at his own joke while Lancelot and Gwaine grimaced outwardly.

“Oh, father, you shouldn’t be scaring the poor guys like that,” Lynette came back just in time, she turned to them, “you shouldn’t take what he says too seriously.”

Ector laughed again and went to wrap his lumpy arm around his daughter. He pulled Lynette to him in a bear hug, he roared, “How did I get such a practical daughter? Your mother would be so proud of you.”

Wiggling out of her father’s hug, Lynette said, “We should give these men nice accommodations for the night. They are so far from home after all.”

After several more minutes of deliberations between himself and his daughter, Ector agreed to give them a slightly smaller going rate on two rooms. They agreed to this arrangement, and it was settled. Lynette brought out chicken this time, and they had a little feast before Lancelot and Gwaine finally went to bed that night.

-

Well, the next day, Gwaine sat there in his room, lost as to where he should go now. His one friend, and brother, needed to inform the others where they were headed. His conscience was being corrupted by thoughts of drink, and he didn’t need this again. Without Lancelot, Gwaine stumbled down the steps of the inn towards the open tavern, Lynette’s smiling face greeted him.

“Good morning,” she said, brightly, “your friend had to leave early this morning to be in Camelot before this afternoon,” she added, “it will be a long day for him.”

Still trying to get his bearings, Gwaine nodded and sat down at the table Lynette had recently cleaned. She went into the kitchen and brought out a plate of eggs with several strips of bacon. Set down the plate in front of Gwaine, she sat next to him and helped him eat.

“You aren’t a morning person, are you?” Lynette asked casually, but she showed interest nonetheless, “my mother wasn’t a morning person either.”

Gwaine stared at Lynette curiously, without saying a word, Lynette zipped her lips, got up and begged forgiveness for her rudeness.

“What happened to your mother?” Gwaine asked without thinking. He didn’t expect an answer, but Lynette sat back down anyway to tell her story.

Twenty years ago, when she was no bigger than the bench she sat on today—one and a half feet above the ground—her mother served in this tavern as a young bride and new mother to a baby girl. A rich nobleman from Broceliande—the castle to the Northwest of this village—ran off with his wife and only son to escape certain death. There was a raid on the villagers of Broceliande, and the noble family escaped as they should have. Unfortunately, the rebels had caught up with the man.

Shot at point blank range with an arrow through the heart, the noble was killed as he let his wife and son escape out the back door. Lynette’s mother—named Lydia—was also killed by a rogue arrow through the chest. She died in Ector’s arms, whispering to see her son and daughter one last time. Not much older than his sister, Kay kissed his mother’s forehead, vowed to protect his sister.

At the end of her story, Gwaine sat shellshocked. The tension was only broken by the entrance of Lynette’s brother. Kay straightened his posture, bristled, and narrowed his eyes at Gwaine. He wasn’t too surprised by this behavior. Gwaine assured Kay that if he had intentions on his sister, they would be entirely honorable.

Still not convinced but didn’t press further, Kay deposited his killings in the kitchen. He had been on a hunting trip all day yesterday, and he was a little shaken by the acquisition of additional company in his absence. It angered him even more to learn that his rate was fixed lower for his bed. His fixed glare on his sister didn’t deter Lynette in the slightest.

She spoke to Gwaine as if Kay wasn’t there. “Oh, you shouldn’t be worried about my brother. Underneath his hard lined exterior, he’s got the heart of a pussy cat.” She grinned wickedly at Kay, but he didn’t return her laughter.  
His retort cut both Gwaine and Lynette to the quick, “I would hope, my sweet sister, that men like this would not catch your eye.” He gestured at Gwaine with disgust in his voice.

There was a stare down between the two siblings. Lynette didn’t like being contradicted by her older brother, and there was equal consternation on both sides as to what Kay was ultimately getting at this time. A quarrel between brother and sister was normal, but this conversation was new to both of them.

Kay sniffed in Gwaine’s direction. He spat, “Do you have any idea who he is the spitting image of, sister?”

Confused, Lynnette replied, “I have no idea of whose spitting image for which you speak, dear brother.”

It was a sparring match, Lynnette and Kay exchanged retorts back and forth that nearly made Gwaine’s own head dizzy. Any time someone talked about him, it was never a good sign. He broke into the conversation, “May I ask you to show me who I happen to look like?”

As if Gwaine asked Kay to spit on him, he stared at Gwaine in horror, but he agreed to take him to the portrait he referenced earlier. Having forbidden Lynette to follow, it was in an area where Kay could not legitimately take his sister without her being talked about like a common street urchin.

He finished his breakfast of eggs and bacon, and Kay told him to follow him out the door. Their walk was uneventful except for the last leg where he found himself outside a whore house with young girls lounging outside, barely any clothing hanging off their bosomy breasts.

As he stared after them, walking through the doors with Kay, Gwaine asked, “What is this all about anyway?”

Kay stopped in front of an open living area, pointed to the opposite wall. Confused, Gwaine looked in the direction Kay pointed with his finger. His mouth fell agape when his eyes saw the portrait over the mantle.

“Lord Marcus of Broceliande, patron and benefactor of whores, mortally wounded and killed by a rogue arrow through the heart,” Kay reiterated, he added the benefactor of whores part though, “left to die while his wife and son escaped to never be heard from again.”

It can’t be, Gwaine’s face said in horror, but he looked to Kay. His face was absolute conviction.  
He found his voice. “But my father wasn’t killed by rogues trying to overrun his keep, he was shot in battle. My mother wasn’t Northern born.”

Kay shook his head, and Gwaine knew there was no other explanation. He was Northern born, the heir of Broceliande. Somebody else was going to be sacrificed in his stead. Kay’s voice spoke through Gwaine’s thoughts, “You still have time to make amends for your father. It takes a day to walk all the way to Broceliande.”

With steely resolve, Gwaine stiffened his shoulders and ran out of the whore house, back to the inn. He was met by Lynette, who when given the order to pack him a lunch and some water, she did it without a second thought. Her hands were steady as she handed him the neatly packed lunch in a kerchief and the flask of water.

“There are some streams you will cross when you travel that way,” she said, “make sure you only take the clean water though.”

He agreed and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. This simple gesture colored her cheeks rosy, and she smiled as she waved him goodbye. With calm assurance, Gwaine walked with renewed vigor out of town.

The last image he saw was Lynette’s waving hand in the distance.


	10. Chapter 10

10

After five miles walking in the hot sun, Gwaine came to the first stream Lynette told him to take his water from on his journey. He was in the middle of nowhere, and the only trees he saw were another mile or so to the right of him. The meadow he walked through had its long grasses sprouted up from the many nights the week and a half; it was evident that the animals hadn’t graze this far out from their neighboring farmlands. As he finished off the last of his water, he refilled at the cleanest spot on the stream and left after about five minutes rest.

Again, he walked until the sun was already tipped towards the western sky. His pace put his mid afternoon pace faster than he would have expected, and he sat down to drink his water, eat his packed lunch, relaxing for fifteen minutes before he got up again to move forward.

The heat had gathered a bit more humidity on the way towards sunset, and Gwaine had to take off his shirt to keep himself cool. Poured some water on his face, it ran down his back, and he made his to the aforementioned Broceliande. Nerves were a part of his anxiety as well as the impending reaction to the current resident of the house, he didn’t know these people. How would they react to him showing up, he thought, would he have to fight the noble who was rumored to take his place.

With all the contradiction that ran through his head, Gwaine shook the impossibilities out as he trudged forward. The blazing sun still managed to keep its intensity for the longest time; unfortunately, it was the chill wind that hit his exposed skin that told him there was something coming.

A swirling dust devil whirled out of nowhere and startled Gwaine, he dropped his flask of water on the ground, spilled its contents. He ran to seek shelter in the closest area he found, a patch of trees that came up to the road he travelled on his way to his destination.

In the woods, he found a small uninhabited cave that he burrowed into, hidden from the dust devil, as he waited for the dust to settle over the trees and meadow. Luckily, he also found the next stream that Lynette had promised would be there for him on his travels. Thanking his good fortune for being dragged out of The Dancing Pirate by Lancelot not more than two days before, he would never have had the chance to know who his parents really were and set his birth name to rights.

Renewed vigor restored Gwaine, he put his shirt back on, but this time, he added his Pendragon red tunic. It was a symbol of honor and nobility to the world, he laughed when Arthur said so that day, but it made sense to him now. His heart was noble, and even if he didn’t have the title, he still needed to restore the birthright of his father’s name. Seeing so many fathers dote on their children, it pained him now that he couldn’t know his own the same way.

He probably did for a time—knew his father—but Gwaine would have been too young to remember it fully. Knowing what he knew now, he vowed to always be there for his own children if he ever had the opportunity to father them. He thought of Lynette, and Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Leon, Lancelot; they all had family who loved them for a long time. In these troubled times, family was all that held the most sane people together. It still hurt to talk about his mother; even though Merlin didn’t mean anything negative, his heart was in the right place, he lost his mother at a very young age.  
Fire started in the house, the guards were brutal as they ran into the village homes and terrorized the mothers of their adversaries. Gwaine’s mother faced the brute force of the captain of the pillagers raped her, violated her, screamed out in agony. The young Gwaine, no more than seven or eight years old, beat on the man hurting his mother with his boy-sized hands. He certainly wasn’t strong enough then to take a full size captain, but the man laughed and ordered a lieutenant to take him prisoner.

Ten years, he was under the tutelage of the man who raped his mother. He taught him to fight, learned to read, all the time plotted revenge on the captain. It was well worth the time it took to get the man alone so he could challenge him to a duel.

Normal rules were agreed upon by both of them, but it was not in Gwaine’s right interest to show mercy to an evil overlord. The first chance he got to bring the captain to his knees, the man begged for his life.

He still remembered how he felt that day. He stared down at the captain, groveling at his feet. His words were exactly thus, “Did you show mercy to my mother when she begged you to stop raping her?”

Realization dawned on the captain’s face as Gwaine ran his sword through the man’s stomach, he didn’t wait too long for the soldiers to find him. Gwaine ran away as fast as he could, and he kept running for four years when Merlin and Arthur found him in the tavern that day.

All his memories coming back to him made the rest of the time go by fast; he was already at the outer border to his destination as night had fallen without his knowledge. He pulled his sword tighter to him as he continued his asserted gait over the last remaining stretch of meadow before the gate. The guards asked him to halt when he got close to them.

Gwaine held up his hands, and said, firmly, “I am not here to make war with the owner of this keep. My business is to set my family’s birth name to right.”

Like the guards would let him go easily, he was stopped again, short of taking a spear to the chest. The first guard said again, “You are not welcome to disrupt the lady’s birthday celebration for her niece.” He shoved the spear in Gwaine’s face, menacingly.

“Well, in that case, I should be paying my respects then,” Gwaine answered, nonchalantly.

“I’m warning you, Sir.”

“That’s Sir Gwaine, and I am here to represent the house of Broce,” he stopped for a second, pointed up to the sky, “hey, is that the full moon out tonight?” He waited for the guards to look away from him as he made a dash for the front door.

Before they realized what he had done, he was already well enough ahead of them. For not having to move all day at their post, they were significantly out of shape. Gwaine laughed as he made his way through the main corridor, past another group of guards. He juked right, then left, as he made a relative guess as to where the dining hall was.

The lights outside the gathered room were lit, illuminated into the shadow corridor, beyond which lay several different staircases. Guards were all around him, and they wanted him to leave at once. Upon his final refusal, he was pressed up against the door. Surrounded on all sides by guards with menacing pikes, they were aimed directly at his midsection. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up like that captain he killed all those years ago.

He pushed through the main doors. The corridor was flooded even more with light, and the guards made enough commotion to startle a sleeping baby. Gwaine locked eyes with Merlin.

-

With the adverse interruption, Lady Meredith was stunned into silence as she also stared at who had entered the dining hall unannounced. There were no such thing as ghosts or spirits, but she could have sworn that there was someone who wanted to play a dirty trick on her.

The first words out of her mouth were, she said, “My son wished me to be haunted from the day I cast him off, and now he plagues me.”

Gwaine straightened his shoulders, he said with conviction, “I mean no disrespect, my lady, but I am not a figment of your imagination.”

In her response, Lady Meredith cried out, covered her mouth to hide the scream she didn’t want to let show her fear. Gwaine continued, as he tried to reassure her, “I have spent over twenty years in exile, almost fifteen without any family to speak.”

Merlin was confused, relieved, and a little anxious; if Gwaine was the heir, he would be the one who would face the brutal truth instead of him. He knew his friend wanted to know his family, but is this really what he wanted, Merlin thought.

As if in answer to his mind’s question, Gwaine stood firm and asserted that he has been witness to the family resemblance between himself and Lord Marcus, the lady Meredith’s first born son. The lady Meredith confirmed it when she got closer to touch Gwaine, hugged him to her breast. Tears fell from her face, it was heartbreaking, and the whole room went awestruck.

Even Sophia Trelaine shed a tear, out of everything that happened this night, it was this one emotion that brought a jerk of realization to Merlin. Someone had to tell Vivian, and it would be downright cruel to neglect her with news on her birthday, even if she did express not wanting to be talked to any more tonight.

With the singers dispersed to have at their own dinner, the guests started chatting about days gone by. No one noticed when Merlin slinked away from the head table and passed out the side door, the same one Vivian went through on her way upstairs.

He climbed the back stairwell slowly, not making a sound. When he reached the door of Vivian’s chambers, he knocked timidly.

A tiny voice answered his knock, filled with tears, “Go away, I don’t want to speak to anyone.”

Unexpectedly, he suddenly felt his heart break for Vivian. She was upset, and no one had the decency to talk to her until now. He cleared his throat, “Vivian, it’s me, Merlin,” he paused to hear if she would come to the door, “I wondered if you could open your door and talk to me.”

“Why would I open my door after I told everyone I wouldn’t talk to any more people?” Her question was muffled through the door. Tears also affected her ability articulate speech, she started to bawl again.

After a long day, Merlin was tired, he leaned his head against Vivian’s door, replied, “Sometimes it feels good to be near someone even when you don’t have anything to say to them.” He breathed out a sigh, “you deserve to be happy on your birthday, and I’m sorry that your family hasn’t let you live your own life.”

The door opened to reveal a red-eyed Vivian, her blonde hair all array, she changed into her cream-colored nightgown with the silver sash, Merlin noticed. She welcomed him in as she sat down on fur rug next to her bed. Gratified to be invited in, he also followed suit and sat down next to Vivian on the fur carpet.

Stray tears ran down Vivian’s face, she wiped them from her eyes. “You have no idea what it is like to born in a family of nobility and privilege,” she let out a breath, whispering.

He weighed the options before him, but he couldn’t think of any other way around the truth. He retorted solemnly, “I may not have been born a noble, but I’ve lived with something my whole life that I had no control over,” Vivian looked up at him, stricken, “I am a sorcerer, Vivian. My circumstances were set before I was even born, I’ve had legends told to me countless times about what had been foretold of my birth centuries before I had been a thought in my parents’ heads.”

Vivian interrupted, “How are you sure you can’t change your path.”

“You have no idea how many times I tried to change my path,” Merlin answered, “it kept coming back to bite me tenfold. Each time I tried to overwrite the prophecy, it gets written worse than originally shown. Old friends are now my enemies, and now I have had to resort to old acquaintances in order to find solace in my life.”

She listened to Merlin’s recollection intently. Even though she didn’t understand some of the past experiences he went through in his story. She started to feel better as he brought her up to snuff on what had happened to her over a year ago in Camelot. They met officially as manservant to enchanted princess.

When he finished reminiscing, Vivian asked, “Have you ever wanted to try to kiss me?”

The question caught him off guard, and he was not sure how to respond. His tongue felt suddenly dry and parched against the roof of his mouth. In the middle of his long story, he hadn’t noticed her as she got perched on her knees and leaned into him expectantly. He couldn’t hide a blush any more than she could, and he turned away, searched for something to quench his thirst.

Found a mini table with a wine jug and stopper, he poured himself a glass and drank greedily. Vivian followed his movements and waited while he pondered his answer. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit, “Yes, I had thought about it, but I had to have made sure Arthur was disenchanted first.”

Vivian laughed, a soft laughter that had no trace of tears in it, made Merlin’s heart warm to know she wasn’t sad right now. She calmed down, “You have always been responsible for everyone else’s welfare, Merlin, how did you not manage to fulfill your own needs.”

Even though she didn’t mean to, Vivian’s words brought the memories of Freya coursing back through his living world. If he hadn’t have fallen in love, it would have been safer for Freya to be a slave girl instead of freed by his own selfish whims; he couldn’t afford to be selfish, and it wasn’t only for his personal life either. He took another long swig from the glass in his hand, as he shook his head in the negative.

Without his noticing, Vivian got up, made her way over to Merlin’s side, stood with her arms outstretched towards him. It was not expected that she would place her tiny hands on each side of his thin, bony face. She rubbed her thumb pads across his cheek bones gingerly, laced the fingers of her right hand through his dark hair. With her tiptoes, she pulled his face down to a comfortable level for her, lightly kissed him on the lips.

“That is for carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and no one had the nerve to thank you for it,” Vivian breathed, as she let go of Merlin’s face. His lips still frozen in his puckered look, eyes opened.

Hesitant, Merlin fidgeted, his lips tingled from where Vivian’s touched them. He’d never been thanked for anything besides service to Prince Arthur; it was not every day the least likeliest source would have made him beyond lost for words.

She was a lady; he was a Dragon Lord’s son. Two worlds that should never have met, but it was destined to be this way. Awkward, the silence fell between them, no words moved past Vivian’s lips either or had any intention of doing so.

Finally, as he said good night, wished her a happy birthday, Merlin made his way to his own chambers with other thoughts besides destiny that ran through his head, Gaius always told him that when he drank too much and sniffed a bar maid’s apron. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a bar maid.

He stripped down to his underclothes and fell asleep thinking of lady Vivian. The look of her sunning herself in the sunshine, the taste of her lips after drinking wine, the feel of her pressed up against him, he shook himself all over to keep from thinking of the idea.

Pondered the idea, it kept him awake, and he figured that maybe he should try to get some sleep. It would only have made him paranoid if he did anything else; Vivian’s soft tiny hands moved softly over his hardened facial features. He pulled his covers aside and realized his thoughts made something else hard.

With relief, he jerked off as he fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Another night of heavy winds and torrential rain, Gwen stared out of the stained-glass window in Arthur’s bedchambers. She rubbed her arms as if she were losing warmth; even though it was not quite summer, the last few nights in Camelot felt unseasonably cold.

Not able to sleep, she wrapped herself up in another layer of her nightgown—went out the door of Arthur’s bedchamber—made her way down the long corridor, past two guards which stood watch over the front door. She found herself in front of Uther’s bedchambers, cautiously she opened the door, poked her head in a crack.

Almost finished for the night, Gaius popped his head up towards the door when he recognized Gwen’s dark curls come peep themselves around the corner. He smiled mildly as he spoke to her, “Good evening, Gwen. You should be in bed at this hour.”

Gwen walked all the way into the room—shook her head and replied, “I couldn’t sleep,” she crossed over to stand next to Gaius still hunched over Uther’s bedside, “how is he, Gaius?”

With bowed head, Gaius didn’t have to say anything for Gwen to understand that Uther didn’t have much time left on this earth. His words broke through Gwen’s silence, his voice softly answered, “We need to make sure he is comfortable,” with a pause, he added in a whisper, “I don’t think it would be a good idea to let his brother in to see him.”

If she hadn’t have known what Agravaine truly was, it would have shocked her that there would be a man any worse than Uther who walked on this earth. She agreed with Gaius, “I think you are right. Could I sit with him for a while,” she laid a hand on his arm, “you have been up with him every night.”

At first, Gaius hadn’t moved from Uther’s bedside, but Gwen assured him that the king would be in good hands. He gave her the bowl he had been using to soak cool water on Uther’s forehead. For a king close to death, he still needed to ward off heat stroke. The stuffy air in the room stifled Gwen’s breath. When Gaius left the room finally, she crossed over to the window, opened it with the rain’s cold air blew through the window, and kissed Uther’s face with its cool breeze.

A groan echoed from the bed, Uther rolled over on his side, stared at the opener of the window. His voice croaked, “Is that you, Ygraine?”

Still in front of the window, the full moon illuminated her dark skin, she jumped when she heard Uther’s voice crackle from the bed. She didn’t answer the question because she didn’t know who Uther had spoken to, but he repeated his question in her direction. She replied, “No, it’s Guinevere.”

Uther sat up, creaks in the bed, he groaned as he leaned his head against the pillow. He patted the bed next to himself, his next words shocked Gwen more than she would admit, “Oh, Guinevere, I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”  
Cautiously, she sat down away from Uther’s hand, she looked at Uther’s face—it was more pale than usual—she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, sire?”

He laughed at her caution until he groaned and clutched his stomach in pain. As he tried to catch his breath, he answered, “There is only one thing I want you to promise me, Guinevere.” His voice sounded serious and unwavered.

Edged closer to Uther, Gwen laid one of her hands on his own, she said, “Arthur will be in good hands, I promise you.”  
Uther coughed again—it was spasmodic and lasted almost a minute—he shook all over, leaned forward and stared into Gwen’s brown eyes. His clear blue ones were clouded and rimmed in red veins. He spoke directly to Gwen in a still calm voice, “You promise me that you will not let my brother take my son’s throne,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Agravaine is far more dangerous than Morgana or myself.”

A chill ran down Gwen’s spine, she took Uther’s hands and held them in his lap, maintained eye contact. She asked, “How do you know what Agravaine is capable of accomplishing?”

Again, Uther’s voice lowered, answered, “I took the power he wanted when we came to this land together many years ago.”  
Without a word, Gwen dropped eye contact with Uther, she turned away from him. She spoke to him indirectly, “You sent your brother away, and now he is back to seize what he couldn’t do before.”

As everything she assumed to be true was proven, Uther grunted in answer to her inquiry. She suspected the man known as Agravaine to be a dirt bag, but it wasn’t in her thought process to think that Uther was less evil than originally intended. Her silence prompted Uther to speak again, “You absolutely must swear that my son does not lose Camelot to Agravaine,” he paused again, “I will probably be gone before he even returns with his lost knights.” He touched her arm imploring her to turn back towards him with her promise.

She turned to Uther again, grabbed his face, promised, “You will not die today, Uther Pendragon,” she shook his head for emphasis, “I promise you that you will not die today, your brother will not take your throne, and you know that your son’s lover will carry the heir of Camelot in her belly.” She kissed Uther on the clammy forehead, leaned him back, and he fell asleep not long afterward.

Before she left the room, she made sure he was still breathing. All revelations aside, the excitement of the last few hours hadn’t made Gwen sleepy at all. She was anxious, and it didn’t help that she had a tightness forming in her stomach. Anyone inexperienced would have drawn the conclusion that she was worried over Arthur’s safety, and she wanted him to be protected from harm; unfortunately for her, she knew better, and she knew that her last promise to Uther was entirely true. She had the future of Camelot growing in her womb.

As she knew many women who went through this natural occurrence, it wasn’t unusual to have women complain of sleepless nights for the first weeks of pregnancy. She should have told Arthur first, but she didn’t really know herself until after he left with Lancelot for the northern plains. To tell the grandfather of her unborn child that she was pregnant first, it was risky, but if the grandchild was likely to be king one day, it would be floating through murky waters without a paddle dangerous.

Suspicions confirmed by Gwen, it was true that Agravaine had no good bone in his body. There was one in every generation passed down in all families; it occurred in her own family when Elyan left home at seventeen. She didn’t think she would see her dear brother again, and her father never forgave himself for the harsh restrictions he put on Elyan’s growth to manhood. Everyone thought that he was the bad seed, and the villagers spread rumors and lies about her brother.

It hurt Gwen to hear this talk which surrounded Elyan’s departure. She stuck her neck out to keep her family’s reputation on the up-and-up, but the rumors of Elyan kept poring through the grapevine that is Camelot’s lower town. Until one day, the rumors died down, and there was nothing exciting for them anymore about Elyan. He fell off everyone’s radar, and Gwen feared that he was dead.

Terrible moment compounded terrible moment, she was all alone in the world. Her father had been killed within days of the rumors departure. It would have been normal to have felt anger, wanted revenge for the murder of her father, but she learned from her mother and father growing up that you can’t embrace the hatred. Hatred is what drives the wicked to throw away their humanity.

Power and the ability to govern do not come from the hand of the victor; it is won through a collective melting pot of ideal qualities. Men and women alike sit together, and they have a say in what can or will be allowed in their villages and towns.

Her mother died with this dream in her soul, she wished that her only daughter would one day be able to see the gathering around of people from corners of this land under one banner of freedom and liberty. The practice of magic would return, and there would be balance once again in two different worlds. Even though he didn’t say it, Gwen believed Merlin felt this way too.

She looked out the rain-splashed window of her bedchambers; she thought of all those not safe when the walls of Camelot still out there. As she stared out the window, she hoped that her comrades were safe even when they weren’t with her.

-

It was the middle of the night. Merlin had finally gotten to sleep—rolled over on his stomach—he’d fallen into deep sleep when he felt the covers that were encompassed around his body opened. The cold air from the open window chilled him as he heard the rain fall down hard outside. His leg was brushed against by another leg wrapping itself around his.  
On his stomach, he lifted his head slightly to see what had disturbed him. A head of fluffy blonde hair nestled against his side, the whole body huddled against him not just the leg curled around him. He murmured in his sleep, “Vivian, what are you doing here? Your aunt will have a fit.”

Her small voice answered from his chest, “I couldn’t sleep with all the thunder and lightning,” thunder roared outside the window, she clutched against Merlin’s back, “I tried not to disturb you. Would you let me sleep here tonight? I find it comforting to be near you.”

As he calculated the cost of Vivian sleeping in his bed, Merlin rolled over onto his left side, Vivian adjusted her position—faced the same way, left side, flush against the whole length of his body. There was no room between them as Merlin wrapped his right arm around Vivian’s waist, rested it on her stomach. His other arm over his head, he almost fell asleep again.

Another thunder boomed, it shook Vivian who was flush up against him. Her breath caught and she released it, she took her own hand, laid it over Merlin’s. She whispered, “Thank you.”

In his half sleep, half awake state, Merlin muttered, “For what?”

Without moving, Vivian replied to his question, “Being there for someone when they need you.”

He pulled her closer to him as he whispered, “Go to sleep, Vivian.” His tolerance for her was getting pushed to the apex.

No one said anything for the rest of the night, the storm subsided as daybreak approached, sunlight streamed through the window as it highlighted the young man and woman sleeping in the same position for the duration of the storm. When the sunlight stirred the young woman from her slumber, she yawned and stretched, felt the movement of the male behind her stir at her movement. He made an unprecedented move that would forever characterize the relationship they had not thought would develop.

As he pulled her closer to him, he let his hand slide up to the ends of her nightgown. He loosened the drawstrings enough to reveal the soft white skin at the nape of her neck—pressed his lips in soft gentle kisses up her throat and along her jawline—a sigh escaped her own lips. His hands felt the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as his lips captured hers in a hunger induced, passionate kiss.

Her head turned into the kiss, but the body still faced in the previous position of the night before. The skirt of her nightgown crept up her legs, as his rough fingers ran slowly along her smoothed thighs. Back arched, she moaned as his lips caressed her throat.

Her excited murmur came out as a moan, “Good morning.”

In answer, he flipped her over on her back, hiked up the nightgown to where she was exposed. He pressed his hardened member still covered against her opening. He leaned his forehead against hers as he grunted, “Good morning.” His blue eyes stared back at hers full of wanton desire, wanted to relieve himself, but he didn’t feel like he should.

Backing arched into him, she moved her lips up to kiss him. She whispered against his mouth, “I’ve never done this before.” Wrapping her arms around his slender waist, she pulled him closer and pressed her knees against his sides.

A curl formed on his lips as he removed the remaining layer of the nightgown exposing her breasts, his mouth found her nipples, started flicking the rounded end with his tongue, first one and then the other, he removed his shirt and pants. He braced his weight as he hovered over her—both naked—his throbbing member pulsed against her smoothed thigh.  
His voice was husky as he whispered, “I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to go through with it.”

Another kiss they shared, two lovers, their loins inches away from being joined forever. Breasts heaving with desire, they were close when a gravelly voice awoke them from ultimate bliss.

“Merlin, have you seen Vivian?”

The voice came from beyond the door. Merlin broke away from Vivian, and she covered herself up quickly with her nightgown as Merlin himself scrambled to dress in last night’s outfit. Without announcing his entrance, Gwaine barged into Merlin’s room—obviously, he didn’t expect to find Vivian barely dressed in Merlin’s bed.

Awkward moment passed, Gwaine told them, “The Lady Meredith has accepted that I am her kin,” after the fact, he noted, “you’re lucky I was the one who barged in here and not the lady herself. You two haven’t?”

Merlin and Vivian exchanged one last glance. The moment before Gwaine’s arrival had been ruined, and it had barely started. Merlin was already softening when he said, “Oh no, um, we’ll be right down,” Vivian scrambled out bed and finished for him, “I’ll go to my own room to change. I’ll see you at breakfast, Merlin.” She walked out of the room, her last longing glance was for Merlin.

As witness to this exchange, Gwaine shook a hand in front of Merlin’s face. Merlin, however, paid no attention to his friend as he dressed himself again. The next words out of Gwaine’s mouth were, “You sly little manservant, why didn’t you tell me you liked a noblewoman?” He punched his friend’s arm playfully.

Suddenly shy, Merlin blushed when Gwaine mentioned his possible feelings for Vivian. He shrugged, “There really isn’t anything to tell, Gwaine.”

With a guffaw, Gwaine laughed uproariously, “Nothing to tell,” he gasped as he laughed, “I almost walked in on someone who almost sewed his wild oats. This is too good.”

The look from Merlin made Gwaine zip his mouth and throw away the key. He didn’t need this to get out, and if it did, word might spread to the girl’s father. Merlin told Gwaine about King Olaf; his temper when it came to his daughter’s safety was extremely potent. One hint that the lady Vivian’s virtue had any form been compromised, broken hymen or no, the assailant would face their being chopped off or their whole body being burned at the stake.

Neither one of those scenarios seemed appealing to Merlin, he made Gwaine promise, too. They both went down to breakfast without another word. Silence was a welcome friend at this time, it gave Merlin a chance to think about his options.

Unfortunately, the lady herself, Meredith, was seated at the table waiting for them. She said her good mornings as she announced that Gwaine would take Merlin’s place. It made him uneasy, but the resolve in Gwaine’s posture calmed him somewhat.

The arrival of the food stopped chatter altogether, Vivian had come in and sat down opposite Merlin. They briefly locked eyes before she turned away and bid her aunt, “Good morning, Lady Meredith. I trust you slept well.”  
A warm smile graced Meredith’s softly wrinkled face, she answered Vivian politely, “Very well. Thank you, my dear. I trust that the storms didn’t keep you awake last night again.”

Merlin choked on a mouthful of food, coughed into his hand unceremoniously. As she avoided his eye contact, Vivian answered her, “I slept better last night than I have in a long time.”

Paled underneath his rosy cheeks, Merlin was shocked by Vivian.

No one except Gwaine knew the truth.


	12. Chapter 12

12

After Gwaine left to claim his birthright, Lynette had the grueling task of returning to work after she helped someone she hardly knew find his potential family. Kay helped in his own way, but she was the instigator when it came to helping out two lone travelers find shelter for the night. Far from patting herself on the back, Lynette returned to the inn to continue finishing up her chores.

The inn had a bustling group of merchants who showed up late in the afternoon, wanted rooms for the night, and food in their bellies. Work remained constant for Lynette until 2 a.m. when she finally dropped into her little bed, it would start all over again before 6, but she prized these moments lying in her bed. She thought about the men who came through her family’s inn and tavern. Many of them were strapping and rough young critters, and some of them were old seasoned characters with more than enough stories to keep her from being bored.

Her father, Ector, thought it improper for her to work in the tavern, but she insisted much to his and Kay’s chagrin. Poor, sweet Kay, his brown eyes and hair identical to his father’s, cursed to work off the land that which his fathers before him had been a landowner. Kay’s skill at hunting had kept the family from having to spend too much extra to feed the many hungry folks who stopped by on their way up north or down south.

As feminine as her mother before her, Lynette did not let the hard work get her down. The men would flirt with her, but she never wanted to lead them on. In this business, you had to know what was worth the risk and what was for fools. Lynette was no fool. She never fancied any of the inn’s visitors before he came along.

Ushered into her inn, she had felt sorry for him, and she fed him along with his friend. His appreciative spirit towards her kindness brightened her mood. She didn’t realize it until over twelve hours after he was gone that she would probably never see him again. The realization stung her more than she would admit, he was a helpless stranger that wandered in from the heat of the summer travelling season. His smile shouldn’t be what made her hum this tune not long remembered except by her father.

Moving through her day, she focused more and more on her chores. His presence in this place will not deter me, and I have not been compromised. You will not see this man again, she told herself. Her resolve came as another set of travelers entered the tavern wearing the same Pendragon red tunics of their compatriot.

Coming up to them, Lynette curtsied, “Greetings, welcome to The Flaming Dragoon. Please have a seat, and we will have the special ready for you in no time.”

The blonde man in front, who appeared to be the leader, said, “Thank you, are you the one, my friend Lancelot called, Lynette?”

A blush covered her cheeks, she nodded, gestured to the tables, and left the open dining room. She gave the order to the cook, four grown men outside in need of her special summer dish. When she returned, she apologized to the blonde man, “I’m sorry. My wits have been shaken for the last few days, but I’m better now. Have you been up here before, young knight?” She didn’t know this was Prince Arthur.

His response was a hearty laugh. He smiled kindly at Lynette, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. My name’s Arthur, and I haven’t been this far north of Camelot.”

Lynette curtsied again, embarrassed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had royalty in our halls,” she started to call the cook to change the order before Arthur stopped her.

“There is no need to apologize. I will be much obliged to you with your local fare,” Arthur protested.

With relief, she looked around at the other travelers with Arthur. The one she knew from before, Lancelot, smiled at her and said hello. He introduced her to Percival, the brauniest looking man she’d ever seen, his muscles were well formed in his arms and chiseled chin. Directly across from her, she was introduced to Elyan. A small, well-built man like Gwaine, his skin was a full shade darker, and he was as appealing as the former.

There was small talk and plans on how to travel back to Camelot as soon as their men were back with them. Being engaged in their conversation, Lynette felt welcome to input what she knew about the present and future of her new friends’ fate. Even though, she hadn’t met Merlin; she felt like she already knew him by how familiar all the knights were with his friendly spirit and quick wit as she was undoubtedly touched by Prince Arthur’s loving consternation for his half-wit manservant.

Merchants came by here in familial relations all the time, but Lynette didn’t see nearly the camaraderie and cheerfulness among them as she saw with each of the men who joked with one another seated before her. She interrupted their conversation with the arrival of their meal; they ended up eating multiple helpings.

In the middle of their dinner, Lynette had to answer the post that arrived. The man was out of breath when he huffed, “I am here with a message for Prince Arthur. Have you seen him?”

She moved aside and revealed the prince as he ate, she answered, “Yes. Do you want to give the message to him yourself or shall I?”

Without hesitation, the messenger went around Lynette, walked up to Arthur, and handed him a letter. The prince perused the message quickly, looked up, and left the money on the table. His men followed suit to the horses, confused.  
Lynette asked, “What about your missing comrades?”

Looking down, Arthur replied, “If they come here, send them on to Camelot.”

With that, they were gone. Lynette was common again.

-

The morning dragged on—at least for Gwaine—it probably felt the same for everyone else as they went about their usual morning routine; or, in two peoples’ case, they completely ignored one another for the duration of the morning. Gwaine was fine with it as he had some time to talk to Merlin before midday.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Merlin,” the look on Merlin’s face told him to tread lightly, Gwaine continued, “are you really a Dragon Lord?”

Question was out there, Merlin knew it was coming eventually. He couldn’t hide from the truth forever, and he knew that he couldn’t boldly tell him that he wasn’t when Gwaine saw him talk to Kilgarrah. He came out and admitted, “Yes, that’s what my father handed down to me.”

As relief went through his body, Gwaine hugged Merlin tightly. He said, “Out of all the men I’ve known in my life, yours is the fate I’d least like to have and the demeanor I greatly admire.”

Not sure whether to take the comment as a compliment or insult, Merlin took the former and hugged Gwaine back. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something did end up happening to his friend. He also thought of Vivian and how she avoided him after breakfast. If they hadn’t have been interrupted, would he have gone through with what he meant?

Attention dragged back to Gwaine, he wanted to know what Meredith had told him last night, but he was tight-lipped on the issue. They went outside; Gwaine picked up two swords, threw one to Merlin. He caught it awkwardly, but it didn’t fall.

In his fighter’s stance, Gwaine challenged Merlin, “I know you helped Arthur train off-duty, but now I think you need to learn how to wield a sword with pride, Merlin.” He flashed his sword around, in a fancy figure-eight, as he brandished it pointedly to his opponent.

Taken his cue, Merlin followed Gwaine’s lead, raised his sword, braced his feet as he prepared for Gwaine to make his first move. Steel against steel, Merlin parlayed his friend’s first blows against his sword.

Broceliande was beautiful this morning, the dew on the ground hadn’t dried fully from the rains of the night. Two men clashed swords in its courtyard, surrounded by open meadow on one side and open sea on the other, the taller of the two young men was easily able to take lessons from the more experienced fighter. Sweat glistened on their foreheads as they spared back and forth in the rising summer heat.

From one of the upstairs windows, the scene below was witnessed by many curious eyes. One of them was drawn to the particularly weaker swordsman; her heart dropped to her stomach when he was finally removed of his sword after two hours of intense training.

Gwaine stood over Merlin’s kneeling form and demanded, “Do you yield?”

Merlin, exhausted, nodded his head and tossed his sword towards his adversary.

Throwing out his hand, Gwaine said, “You’ve done well, Merlin. We will pick this up next week.” He turned around when the front door opened—followed by Lady Meredith and the older gentleman from the feast—they made their way towards them.  
As the older gentleman was a little slow in his tread, Meredith reached them first. The man came up behind her, and Merlin noticed he wielded a two handed broadsword. He gestured for Gwaine to follow him, and Merlin’s stomach faltered, lurched forward with unease as Gwaine followed the older gentleman away from the house.

Little more than the far side of the courtyard, there stood an altar with the crest of the family it belonged to hung over the side. Gwaine was told to kneel at the foot of it and bent his head—Merlin almost didn’t want to look, but it would have betrayed him not to do so. He braced himself for what he thought would happen; even though he couldn’t hear what the older man or Gwaine said, it all happened so fast, and then it was over.

The broadsword didn’t even scratch Gwaine’s skin as it touched briefly against his neck. Sheathing his weapon, the man asked Gwaine to rise and take his vow as champion protector of Broceliande proudly. Stiff with shock, Merlin stared at first at Gwaine and then at the older man, who revealed green armor from behind the altar that should be worn at all times under his sworn oath to Camelot.

It was a big day for Gwaine—to be granted a home and given the oath to protect it—he celebrated the only way he knew how. He toasted Broceliande and the lady of the house, Meredith, whom he left a kiss upon her cheek.

Dancing was called for—the minstrels were instructed to play something worthy of dance—Gwaine clicked his heels and picked up his host for the first dance. Even Merlin joined in the fun, the thrill of the party was getting to him, and his adverse effects to alcohol spun him around until he got too dizzy, he had to sit down.

Having come down not wanting to miss the festivities a second night, Vivian appeared and shyly sat down next to Merlin. His first thought was not to say anything about the events of this morning, but the second thought wanted him to ask, “How do you like Gwaine as part of your family?”

She was quiet at first, but she replied, “I’ll get used to him. My time here has reached its end.”

Not sure what to say, Merlin asked, “What do you mean by that? I thought you loved it here.”

A smile crossed over her lips, she said, “I do love it here, but I feel it’s time that I went back to my father’s home.”  
After further explanation, Merlin agreed that he would take her back to her home, and he knew it was the right thing to do.

Lady Meredith agreed with them.


	13. Chapter 13

13

When Gwaine, Merlin, and Vivian woke up the next day, despite Meredith’s protests, the three of them each took a horse from the stables for the journey that would take them back towards The Flaming Dragoon and onto the path that would lead them back to Camelot. If their plan had worked smoothly, Kilgarrah wouldn’t have shown up when he did with stern words for Merlin.

“You are taking a big risk escorting the young woman back to her home, young warlock,” Kilgarrah snarled in his usual snarky manner.

Meredith had already gone back into the house to arrange the new week’s work schedule for her servants, and she also needed to make better accommodations for the next time Gwaine visited the house. In his protective way, Merlin moved to shield Vivian from the dragon, “This is not your concern, Kilgarrah,” he gestured to himself and Vivian, “you do not mess with us,” and pointed to Gwaine as well, “or anyone else’s lives, do you understand me?” Anger swelled up inside him whenever he talked to the dragon, it infuriated him how much the creature knew when he technically didn’t know anything of value.

In response, Kilgarrah tilted his head upwards towards the sky and spit fire into the air. It scared Vivian, who let out a yelping moan behind Merlin. The dragon’s words came out in a warning, “I’ve been cooped up in that cave for three days. Don’t you think I deserve a little bit of respect?”

“You were trapped below the Camelot castle for over twenty years, and I don’t even respect you,” Merlin retorted bitterly.

Puffed out some smoke, Kilgarrah huffed, “Fine, but I am warning you. King Olaf won’t take kindly to a lowly man walking or riding horseback with his daughter.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Like he hadn’t thought of the consequences, this was the fault of whoever created the dragon. Faulty wiring in their heads, they think run the joint when they are a miserable and selfish creature intent on satisfying its own ends. His patient was always worn thin around this immature older being. Kilgarrah was like a child, pointed out the obvious.

Even though, he seriously regretted it. He agreed to take Vivian with him on Kilgarrah’s back. As Vivian couldn’t speak dragon tongue any more than Gwaine could, he threatened, “There will be no eating virgins on our trip, beast.”

Kilgarrah snorted and sideways glanced at Vivian, appreciative. To show his displeasure, Merlin slapped his tamed dragon in the mouth and continued to yell at him in his native tongue.

From below, Gwaine shouted up to Merlin, “I’ll meet you in Camelot. There’s a stop I have to make on my way back.”  
Merlin nodded, and Gwaine took his horse, made his own head start towards The Flaming Dragoon. When the two passengers aboard Kilgarrah were situated, Vivian gripped her arms around Merlin’s waist as they lifted off into the air.

As much as he hated talking to a dragon, he loved riding on his back. The wind was less humid up in the air where the dragon spread its wings. He could block out the sun with his wing span and give shade to many people, but Merlin was in a hurry, and they needed to get back to Camelot.

With Vivian hanging on behind him, he was distracted by where his attentions should be—whether they should be used to tell Arthur that he has magic or keep quiet, do his business, and send Vivian home like he promised.

Conflicted as he was, he still found time to look at all the buildings going past him below and how tiny they looked compared to his vantage point. He nudged Vivian to look below her, “Hey, take a look at how high we are.”

She opened her eyes, looked down, and immediately held a tighter grip on his person. It made him laugh, but he soothed, “It’s okay, Vivian. I won’t let you fall.” When he said this, the dragon looked back at him, and he glared menacingly at it. He thoughts said, you watch it, buddy, I will take you out back when this is all said and done if you mess this up.

It was a quiet ride through the northern plains towards the border to the south lands. After the initial fear of being so far up in the air, Vivian relaxed a little and started to talk again, to Merlin and the dragon. No one ever prepared her for one day being able to talk to a dragon, but she did so with ease. Her eyesight was superb from high above the perch that was Kilgarrah’s back.

First to spot a large mass of troops heading towards their destination from the east, Vivian caused Kilgarrah to pause in midflight, jerked forward, Vivian’s head hit Merlin’s back, but she pointed down, further away still than they were, and shouted, “Hey, look, that’s an army over there.”

In the direction Vivian pointed, Merlin looked and was surprised that he agreed with her. His blood froze when he realized whose army it was marching toward Camelot. He ordered, “Drop us down a little before our usual clearing, will you,” to Kilgarrah. He understood and did as he was told.

Before he had them descend, he told Merlin, “I will wait here for you to return,” he deposited them where his lord had requested.

Thanking Kilgarrah, Merlin took Vivian’s hand as they made it the rest of the way hidden in the underbrush and foliage of the forest’s edge, and Vivian only complained once about her feet hurting.

“We can rest when we get within arm’s reach of the castle’s walls,” Merlin turned back to look her struggling through the woods, she had taken off her slippers to go tramping through the mud that hadn’t dried in the shade. He laughed aloud, “Look at you, no one would think you were a lady.”

Clearly not in the mood, Vivian stuck her tongue out at Merlin. She laughed right at him, “You watch your mouth, or I will have it slapped when I get home.”

This playful side of Vivian amused him more than anything, she was tolerable and not to mention easy on the eyes. He looked her up and down all muddy from the bottom, busted up laughing again. It made her angry, but she only slugged him playfully in the arm. As she fell back against a tree in a fit of giggles, Merlin put his hand up to his mouth and warned her to stay quiet.

As they reached the edge of the forest closest to Camelot’s outer wall, Merlin saw Guinevere as she stood at the top and looked down over the wall towards the kingdom beyond. It wasn’t until he looked in the direction Gwen focused on that she saw Arthur, Lancelot, Percival, and Elyan bring up the rear as they bounded into the castle’s main gate.

Merlin freed his hand from Vivian’s mouth as she protested, “Aren’t you going to go show your friends that you are back before the army arrives?” She was sincere, and he had to hand it to Vivian. She had a point, but this was how he wanted it.

Waiting was the hardest part, when the three knights and Arthur disappeared into Camelot, Gwen went below, most likely to greet them as they arrived. If Merlin had any choice in the matter, he would do this without any strings attached. Two people—Lancelot and Vivian in particular—already know Merlin has magic. Unfortunately, he had to make a choice on whether to do his magic reveal during a time of peace or during a battle for supreme domination over the throne of Camelot.

Everyone knew now that Morgana would stop at nothing to take back what was hers by fiat. The firstborn had the inheritance, but the male got the title. It was all backwards; even though he was forward thinking, he couldn’t allow the twisted mind of Arthur’s half-sister take the throne of Camelot. Her hatred for her own father had been drummed through her since she was born, hated who she was, and hated what she did to people who hated her. It made Merlin shudder to think what she would do if she knew where to find the sword he hid somewhere in the woods near the lake it first was thrown in.

It didn’t take long for the troops to trudge through the mud and the muck from the east. Morgause was also in the pack, followed closely next to Morgana. A pit sank in Merlin’s stomach when he realized that both of them have cheated death at least once now. It made him ill at ease to think he would have to incapacitate both of them in order to wipe them out permanently.

He inched closer to the tree line to watch for when the battle started, Vivian whispered behind him, “Are they in position yet? Can we leave our hiding spot?”

Even though she asked this casually, Merlin hadn’t taken much thought to where Vivian should be when he ran out and obliterated the forces. He turned to Vivian, whispered forcefully, “You will stay in these trees where no one will capture you alright.”

“Like hell I will,” she spoke louder than a whisper, Merlin covered her mouth, pointed to his ear and then the battlefield. She nodded, whispered, “I will not sit here while you go and save Camelot.”

It took a little convincing for her to agree to stay where she was told, and she wasn’t able to move unless he yelled for her to run. She agreed, but she had requested a kiss to seal the deal. The least he could do was oblige her with this request, he leaned in to kiss her chaste on the lips, but she pulled him closer and kissed him deeper than he had intended.

Effected by the adrenaline, he broke away from the kiss, gathered his wits, and moved closer to witness when the first shot was fired.

-

Happy to see Arthur home again, she had sent word about his father, but the news about the army hadn’t before she had just sent out the messenger. It would greatly distress him if she had wasted the energy on the second messenger to send him an updated report.

With a hug for each of them, Gwen welcomed each knight back like they had been gone more than a two weeks to a months rather than over one day. As awkward as it had been around Lancelot when he first returned to see her with Arthur, it was nice to know that his friendship with her was going to be counted on no matter the circumstances. Her brother and Percival were also valued members of the Pendragon order of Knights.

After she greeted them, Arthur asked, “Why are the men assembled for battle?”

She dragged him up to the wall over the main gate, pointed to the guards that had gathered in her absence from the wall. The appearance of them in multitudes made her shudder to think that they might be immortal again. Of course, when she stared closer at the army, one pair in the front row turned to one another, the one on the left took a sword into the gut from the one on his right.

Swallowed a huge gulp of air, she breathed out, “Did you see that?” She pointed toward where the man down, sword ripped out of him by the man who put it there. Her insides felt uneasy, and she knew that if she wasn’t careful, would end up passing out without warning.

Arthur nodded and turned her back around, walked with her into the castle. Before he went out, he said, “If anything happens, I want you to fight as my champion.”


	14. Chapter 14

14

Vivian watched as the first arrow shot from the back of horde’s flank, flew over the wall. She didn’t see where it hit, but she knew that the catapults aimed to shoot earthen debris lit on fire, would definitely bring people to their knees. The action intensified quicker than her eyes had gotten used to—noticed Merlin was standing still in the trees, away from her concentrating on the disrupting the troops.

Not sure what he did exactly, but she saw his gaze land upon two of the men in the front row—the one wielded his sword, stabbed the other through the guts. It would be unseemly for a true lady to be seen watching the battle going on before her eyes, heard the screams and groans as a few dropped within seconds after the wall’s supports returned their fire.

The standard back and forth was stalemate between the two forces. No one would overrun the castles defenses; not when Arthur held the wall. Three feet thick all the way around, there was no way Morgana let alone Morgause would leave their safe haven without the security of knowing magic protected them.

Bold faced though they were, Morgana and Morgause were still not recovered from the last battle. It was supreme dark magic that allowed Morgause to turn Cenred’s army into an immortal fighting force the first time. Any spell as powerful as immortality needed a great deal of energy exerted from the spell caster in question. Of course, even without the added immortals, Morgana was still a formidable witch, and Morgause was her handy warrior-priest.

Convinced that at some point, they would open their eyes to unleash some magic spell. Merlin had to be ready to take his place and stop them. He looked around at his surroundings, but nothing directly caught his eye that he could use against them. Surrounded by trees and brush, he couldn’t exactly create a dust storm like he had before in his home village of Ealdor.

Or could he, probably it would be a good idea to make the circumstances familiar, he could also use the assistance of the storm clouds that had not quite disappeared from the sky even as they flew across blue skies the whole way. Chancing a look back at Vivian, she watched him and the battle unfold from her hiding place, she looked nervous, anxious, and pleading with herself to go help.

As he told her not to move, Merlin turned back to the action, watchful of the sign to move from his hiding place in the woods. The weak offensive Morgana had against Camelot disturbed everyone because she had grown up there. Surely, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that it would fall with a few battering rams to the front gate.

Fortified Camelot could outlast any frontal assault for as long as the troop levels of the rebels held, it was impregnable by an above ground attack. Merlin gave it to Uther’s ingenuity and aversion to magic that he had the labor required to build such walls well before the normal time tables for completion. There was a stone quarry still functioning as of today that provided the stone and mortar to build the walls of Camelot so thick.

The stone quarries were one of the last remaining loyal supporters of Uther to fall before the knights refused, during Morgana’s first attempt to usurp the throne. Of course, they only did this out of fealty and bribery, but they turned on the witch as soon as she was gone. Houses built in Camelot were made possible by the strength and resolve of those hard-working men as well as their wives who supported them.

Morgana didn’t know this about the wall, but one slab was placed in such a way that it could hold an object or symbol of magic that would activate when the right spell was cast. The spell would simultaneously turn the entire inner city of Camelot into a protected city, but the force of anything reflected upon the barrier would reciprocate and destroy the individual who cast the spell.

One day, while he had finished making his rounds for Gaius, before he went to assist Arthur’s lazy bum for the day; there was an obscure light square, angling off the cobblestones, projected through the wall. Upon further examination, he realized that there had been an inscription scribed into the stone work hidden inside the wall.

It took him two weeks to decipher the message from what he had learned in his spell book. The message was clear: “No magic shall ever permeate these walls.” A witch with a sense of humor became a stone cutter to scribe this message to be hidden from view. Old magic protected Camelot even when immortals overrun the guards, a spell like that was destined to be activated in protection of the future king when his life was in jeopardy.

Even Gaius had no idea what Merlin had planned, his secret was perfectly guarded from him. No one knew what lay behind that one slab in the wall. It would be better to keep it that way. He also thought of Vivian’s impromptu involvement in this plan, but he shook his head. No, he thought, she couldn’t know about this plan either.

Glowing yellow eyes flashed from him as he deflected another attack through the wall onto the man or creature that swung his sword, flailed his axe, or branded his bow. Arrows were shot—halfway made to their destination—reflected back and hit the receiver straight in the chest. When the first couple of arrows came back, the leaders looked around for the cause of the magician who reflected their assault back at them.

Still hidden, Merlin muttered a spell under his breath. An invisible barrier formed from the indentation in the wall, formed a dome around the city fifty feet in the air. Before he knew it, Morgana ordered her troops to halt, called a cease fire.

-

Morgana weighed the options she had. There was every suspension going through her that Merlin had somehow done something to stop her, but she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea that someone as dim-witted as him could be powerful enough to create that shield. With a nod of the head to Morgause, she rode forward with a white flag extended.

In the loudest voice she could muster, she shouted, “I know you are out there, sorcerer,” Merlin could feel her closing in on his thoughts, “you are hidden, but there is nowhere for you to go now. Come out and reveal yourself, or I will do it for you.”

Oh, she is good, Merlin thought, she would make good on that threat. He noticed her making a conscience effort to search for him in her mind. If there was any kind of psychic connection between them, Merlin didn’t need to find out. He pulled back his concentration on Morgana to reflect a stored energy arrow into the halted troops.

The result was as intended—the band of misfits behind Morgana ran screaming as the whole middle of their flanked unit was wiped out in one fell swoop—her screech in agony told him that he wounded her. He had her defenseless as the men she brought with her fell out of step and ran with their tails between their legs.

She dismounted from her horse, screamed so loud, she cracked the windows that were safe inside the barrier. Merlin didn’t need to see Vivian to know that the screeching witch was making her ears buzz. Her violent screeches became audible speech, when she screamed, “MERLIN, I KNOW YOU ARE OUT THERE. SHOW YOUR WORTHLESS SELF!”

Spitting rage coursed through Morgana’s body as lightning bolts shot from her fingers, it wasn’t supposed to go like this, Merlin ran from his hideaway in the forest.

Screaming at Morgana to stop, he shouted, “You see me, Morgana. Now stop what you are doing, I don’t want to hurt you.”

In her rage, the only explanation Morgana had for her actions was reflected on Merlin. She launched a barrage of lightning bolts at his body, but his swift form ran quickly, dodged each one before it hit the ground. His foot nearly singed at one instance, grabbed a sword from the leftover belongings of a runaway soldier, gathered his footing, and aimed the sword directly at her throat.

Rage subsided a little, she was still breathing heavy as he pressed the sword into her throat, marking it with a nick. His own breathing was quick from the run toward the middle of the action, and it took some time for him to catch his breath.

Morgause was behind her sister when Merlin reached them. Her expression showed not as much surprise as it did realization that her suspensions had at once been confirmed after half a year as a lifeless corpse. Strength not fully returned, she could barely lift her arm with her old sword. She muttered behind her sister, “I would like to congratulate you, Merlin.”

This speech gave Merlin pause, he turned his attention from Morgana to Morgause.

“I heard the legend of the inscription, but I didn’t think they would prove true,” she nodded her head toward Merlin, “you are a worthy adversary. Let me assure you.” She grinned menacingly, but Merlin didn’t take kindly to it.

Diverted from his original intent, he returned his attention to the sword pointed straight at Morgana’s throat, he threatened, “How do you expect your sister to fight in these circumstances when there is a sword plastered at her neck,” his question was meant for Morgause, but it aimed itself at Morgana more, “do you not realize that taking the throne of Camelot by force is not what the intent of the inscription was.”

His voice dropped lower for only himself and the sisters to have heard it. If he had known Vivian would have run out of her hiding place to stop him from murdering Morgana, he would have given the order to run five minutes before he showed himself on the field. As it stood, he was already too late. Vivian had been spotted, and she probably couldn’t get away fast enough before Morgause would probably tear her down.

As an experienced combat veteran, Morgause took the opportunity when it was presented. She drew her own sword, despite her lack of strength, extended her arm wielding the weapon toward Vivian, and mouthed an incantation.

The result brought spellbound chains shot from her weapon—wound several times around Vivian’s body—brought her knees crashed down to the ground. Merlin dropped his weapon from Morgana’s throat as he went to cover Vivian.

Upon the release, Morgana had calmed down enough to quickly snatch the snared girl from Merlin’s grasp and toss her to Morgause, who caught her effortlessly.

She laughed at Merlin’s unfortunate blunder. Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she made a discerning noise at him. Her voice sickly sweet, “Aww, how quaint, sister, Merlin has a lover,” she pointed her glare at Merlin, “it is tragic really, Merlin. You are the sweet and sensitive magician who wants to save the world and fall in love like everyone else; unfortunately, you were cursed with meeting me who uncovered your bullshit, and now I take your new found love away from you.”

Before he knew it, Morgana, Morgause, and their captured Vivian were gone in a puff of smoke, but it wasn’t before the smoke cleared. Merlin heard Vivian’s voice echoed in his head, she said something before he lost control of her and the situation. His knees fell to the ground, body weakened by the exhaustion he exerted with the barrier over the city.

Her words build in him a resistance, the first kind words she spoke to him, the voice echoed, “This is for being there when no one else would have the nerve to try.”

“VIVIANNNNNNNNNN,” Merlin screamed into the wind.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The funeral for Uther Pendragon was a somber affair. As Guinevere promised, Arthur saw his father one last time before he crossed over; in his last rites, he pardoned Merlin for activating magic in the purpose to protect Camelot from the evil forces who threatened it. His mind raced as he captured Arthur in a hug when he was surprised that his friend was so open about his congratulations.

Flowers were arranged, the Autumnal Equinox already passed, there was more than enough lilies left over to line the table for which he was laid for mourning. A guard, usually one of Arthur’s council, was asked to stand watch over the corpse. Percival took the first watch since he knew already the adverse effect Uther had had on the people of Camelot.

Throughout the service—conducted by Geoffrey of Monmouth—Merlin felt a great sense of unwash when he remembered that he had promised to return the lady Vivian to her home. For the life of him, he knew that he must do something to get her back from the hands of Morgana. There was no telling what the witches would think to do to her, and he was afraid to imagine the horrors a newly sprung lady would have to face.

Moping was his usual face around Camelot, Gwen came up to him and asked, “Do you love Lady Vivian?”

The question was so blatant that it took him off guard, and he had no idea what he was going to say. He felt something for Vivian, but he didn’t know what it was. She stirred something inside of him that he hadn’t realized he had—passion, motivation, will to live—he didn’t know, but it wasn’t something one couldn’t answer with a simple yes.

Complications occurred in every relationship, whether good or bad, the end of a life usually signified the promise of a new and brighter future. His mother wanted to instill hope that there was something better waiting for him on the horizon.

Life did not work this way, he thought, the complications that brought drama into your life. The threats to your harmony and wellbeing, it was clear that in the mortal sense, his life would be plagued with trials far more numerous than any normal man could stand.

Not even a king, even ones as prattish and stubborn as the kind Arthur will be crowned as, he couldn’t possibly imagine the pains he went through on a daily basis, but now he will know who has really been saving his butt the last three and a half years.

Gwen squeezed his hand in hers as she smiled, assuring him that he had her back. Her steady rock was the bulwark in his times of tumultuous tumult and the good times, and there was no reason why she couldn’t keep be there for him in the future. As Arthur’s queen, she would be powerful in her own right, and it would be a cold day when she showed her vengeance upon anyone.

As the service wound down, the eyes followed the corpse as it was transported down the aisle—led by Arthur—down the stairs to the crypt which held all the royal family and nobles associated with the royal family of Camelot. In his curiosity, Merlin followed them from a distance and waiting while the tomb was filled with Uther’s body and possessions. The stone rolled over the box, and the symbol that closely resembled the reign of his kingship coming to a close, a broken wand laid at the head of his coffin, right on top of his old Pendragon banner.

With the men gone, Merlin reappeared from his hiding spot. He searched around for familiar faces, but they were all gone by the time he returned. Even Gwen, she had gone to give solace to Arthur as he grieved the loss more personally.  
Likely, he would have done the same, but his head was filling with many images of people that he could not deal with any more sober. Drunken idiocy aside, he could stand the craziness for one too many drinks of the hard stuff tonight.

When he made his way to The Raging Pony—the local Camelot lower town tavern—he deposited his money down as he tanked back a lot of meade and other ales. He was getting good and drunk when he found something move toward him out the corner of his eye.

A blonde head appeared next to him, he almost thought it was Vivian until she revealed herself more to him. She turned out to be much more round faced than his blonde beauty, and her green eyes were definitely not from Vivian.

Guffaws and a slam on the back startled Merlin, he jumped before he saw Gwaine was behind him and nearly knocked him off his seat. His heart pounded when he realized he almost knocked over his friend. He punched him in the face.

“Don’t you know not to startle a man who’s been drinking,” he was drunk by this point, stammered over the words as the fell out of his mouth.

Even though he was mostly good natured, he returned the favor I gave him and slugged me right back. He held me down and didn’t allow me struggle against my attacker. The girl next to him pleaded with him, “Oh, Gwaine, can’t you see he’s been drinking? Do pick him up and help me take him home.”

She didn’t really need the help after all, but it was given anyway. For someone no bigger than Gwen, she lifted his limp noodle body, dragged it all the way back to Camelot, and deposited in his bed. Gwaine only had to hold a leg up to keep it from getting stubbed on a loose rock in the square.

Her sweet voice sounded soft in my head, “We haven’t formally met. I am Lynette.”

As words bubbled upon Merlin’s lips, he could feel the bile push out of my throat, as he fell to my knees, he retched onto the girl’s sturdy shoes.

The nausea from the ale washed over his body as he crumpled at her feet.


End file.
